Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye
by Aithne
Summary: Sequel to "The Winds of Change". With Jack and Will accused of Norrington's death and not a shred of evidence to prove them innocent, it is up to friends, new and old, to save their lives. That is, if those friends can avoid turning against each other.
1. A Governor, A Commodore, and A Pirate

**Disclaimer: **"Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl" is copyrighted exclusively to Disney. I do not own their original characters. I do, however, own everything else. **::Snicker::**

**A/N: **I'm back. ::waves fervently:: Yep. I'm updating…the next day. Wow: three updates in three days. ::pats self on back:: That's pretty impressive in my opinion. Anyways, I was so overwhelmed with reviews yelling at me about my "evil cliffie" that I just couldn't let you poor lads and ladies suffer any more. "The Winds Eye" came from an actual nautical term; the wind's eye, as it is called, is the actual point from which the wind blows. I hope you all are catching on to the titles of these stories…if you guess well, you'll be able to determine how they will end. And now, without further ado: Part II.

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye A Governor, A Commodore, and A Pirate 

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_I'm too old for this._

Governor Swann sighed as he sat at the deep mahogany table, letting his tea grow cold while absent-mindedly picking at his breakfast crumpet. The morning sun spilled through the picture-glass windows to his right, illuminating the intricately embossed design at the center of the long, rectangular table. A delicate breeze teased his face through the open balcony window, and the governor found himself wishing that he were a young man again: carefree, handsome, and without responsibility.

But those days were over. He was now an official dignitary of England, and had been called there to meet with the Royal Parliament itself. He had been provided with an official invitation to come to England – all expenses paid for by their Royal Highnesses, of course – in order to discuss the newly acquired English colonies of Jamaica. Apparently Parliament had been impressed with his govern of Port Royal, and were interested in hearing his opinions about the adequate rule of the Jamaican territories. 

  
Without a doubt, he had been honored and slightly proud with himself for gaining such recognition with England. However, the "few months" that he had been invited to stay there had quickly turned into five months, six months, seven months…he realized with disdain that he had been trapped in England now for almost a year. Although the country was the home of his birth, once a soul reaches the Caribbean, the country of birth is of no importance. The Caribbean is said to free your soul…and Governor Swann silently admitted that he completely agreed.

Not only did he miss the Caribbean, however, but he missed his daughter terribly as well. Although she was now taken care of by her husband, he still felt responsible for her. He knew, at the bottom of his heart, she was happy with Turner the blacksmith. And, granted, his business had been substantially lucrative. But a nagging sensation in his mind told him that perhaps there was more to the boy than he thought. He convinced himself time and again that he had done the right thing by letting Elizabeth marry him, but something told the governor that maybe Will Turner wasn't as honest as he should be.

_After all, he's a pirate. Elizabeth said so herself._

Sighing again, he stood up, in no mood for breakfast. The realization that his age was slowly but steadily catching up to him had made his stomach churn. Glancing at the clock, he noted it was barely ten o'clock; he didn't have an administrative meeting with Parliament until two in the afternoon. Wondering what on earth there was to do in London fairly early in the morning, he decided to take a stroll to ease his anxiety and get some fresh air.

"Trudy," he called. A young, fairly plump maid appeared from the kitchen and curtsied. "I shall be going for a walk. If anyone comes to call, tell them I shall be back no later than noon."

"Yes, sir." She curtsied once again, and disappeared.

Stepping out into the crisp English air, he felt his spine tingle. Brushing it off as nothing more than the chilled air he had grown so unfamiliar with in the Caribbean, the governor pulled his cloak around him and headed off for downtown London. 

He walked past bakeries, shoe repair shops, blacksmiths, butchers, tailors, and peddlers. The smell of molded metal and raw meet filled his lungs and he resisted the urge to gag. Little children played in the streets while "respectable" businessmen stood in small corners of the marketplace, speaking in hushed tones while sending a roaming eye over their shoulder every minute or two. Mothers held screaming babies, fathers taught their sons how to bargain for a good price, and teenage boys roughhoused in every alley for miles around.

_Ahh…just like home._

"Papers! Getchor papers! One shillin' per paper, but it's a buy! Getchor papers, mornin' papers!" 

Governor Swann looked to the source of the noise and saw a young boy, perhaps twelve, waving the _London Times_ above his head wildly while screaming promotions at the top of his lungs. Extracting a shilling from a pouch at his side, the governor smiled down at the boy and took a paper. The boy gave him a funny look and stood quiet for a minute. Then, giving him an awkward smile, he turned back to his task at hand. "Papers! Getchor papers!"

The governor turned from the boy and glanced down at the paper. _More Taxes Levied by Parliament, New Acquisition of Jamaican Territories, English Emissary Goes to France…_all normal headlines, nothing to be excited about. His eyes traveled down the paper and rested on the last article. His breath caught in his throat as he read the headline, but it was the underlying article that nearly made him collapse:

_COMMODORE NORRINGTON MURDERED_

"Commodore James Thomas Norrington, commander of the Caribbean Fleet of Port Royal, has been murdered. Accused with the heinous crime are Jack Sparrow, infamous pyrate captain of The Black Pearl, and William Turner, a blacksmith in the port city itself. Interestingly enough, William Turner is the husband to Mrs. Elizabeth turner, formerly Ms. Elizabeth Swann, Governor Swann's daughter, who is currently visiting England on a diplomatic errand from Port Royal. The accused are presently en route to the port town where they await trial. However, according to newly-appointed Commodore Benjamin Ratherford, 'There is no trial needed. The accused are guilty as charged. If justice will be served, they shall be hanging from the gallows in a month's time…'"

~*~

"STILL no "captain"? I'm accused of murdering a commodore of the Royal Naval Fleet of England, and I get no bloody "captain"?"

"You have other things to be worried about, Jack. Like hanging from the gallows," retorted Bill Turner, standing outside of the cell in which Jack and his son were being held on board the _HMS Perseverance. _He looked none too pleased, his hands folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed slightly. "It won't matter if they call you captain after you're dead."

Jack looked up from the paper and grinned, but remained silent. Instead, it was Will who answered, "At least they designated you _were _a captain."

Jack snorted. "Aye, but it doesn't say it in front of my name, now does it?"

Will didn't answer.

Jack glanced at the lad next to him and rolled his eyes. "For bloody's sake, Will, cheer up. You're just like your old man, I swear. Down on yer luck every single time you get caught. You're a bloody pirate…you're supposed to get caught."

"Good pirates are _not _supposed to get caught…and I'm _not_ a pirate," Will replied coldly.

Jack looked at him hard for a few moments, and then shook his head, turning to Bill. "His madness is all your doing. Stop being such a damn priest, Bill. You look like you want to give me my last rights before I'm given a sudden drop and a short stop."

Bill grunted and shook his head. Jack looked from Bill, standing outside with his arms crossed to Will, who was leaning up against a corner of a cell, gazing off into the distance. Jack threw up his arms and said exasperatedly, "Christ's blood in a cup, you both are going to drive me mad." He looked at Bill and took a deep breath. "YOU, my dear Bootstrap, need to get off of your high horse and come to the well-supported conclusion that you were one hell of a bad father." Now, he gestured to Will. "And YOU, my precious blacksmith, must start acting like a man instead of a lost boy who will carry this godforsaken grudge around with you until the day you die…which, I might add, appears to be approaching fairly fast."

The other two remained silent, but Jack knew he had made an impression. _Well, it's better than nothing, _he concluded, turning back to his paper. "Let's see…ooh. We acquired some new land in Jamaica. Lovely vacation spot, must say…hmm…oh wonderful, smashing, even. They came out with another Piracy Act." Jack read: " 'The British Piracy Act of 1695 was passed yesterday by Parliament in an overwhelming vote. Parliament is not being extremely vocal on the details of this new act, but have reported that it will deal with piracy more stringently than before.'" Jack shook his head. "More stringently? What's more stringent than death, I wonder…"

But Will wasn't listening. He was too busy thinking about Norrington, Barbossa, the curse…

The curse… 

"THE CURSE!" Will cried out, jumping to his feet. He turned wildly to Jack and said, "Jack, the curse! You can't die…you're still cursed!"

Jack looked at him for a few moments, as if he were choosing his words carefully. "I'm not that lucky, mate."

"What?"

Jack shook his head and rolled up his sleeve, to where a gaping wound stood from the avalanche of rocks at the cave. Dried blood surrounded the wound. "I'm bleeding. I don't know what happened, but the curse is broken. I can die, just like every other poor bastard."

Will wanted to smack himself. _Of course, _he reminded himself. Jack was bleeding after the cave, as well as when Ratherford had him beaten. Will had cleaned Jack's wounds himself…Jack had almost died. The severe blow to the head was not indeed from a fist, but from the butt of a gun. It had split his head open, and had made Jack so weak that he couldn't stand for five days. He became delirious, tossing and turning, running a high fever and refusing to eat…

…and Ratherford had thrown him in the water-filled brig, refusing to let Elizabeth tend to him.

So Will had sewn up his wounds, brought down his fever, and saved his life. And now, four weeks later, whenever Jack looked at him, Will knew there was silent appreciation in his eyes.

"And what are you doing down here, may I inquire?"

The cold, gentlemanly voice emanating from the entrance to the brig brought Will back to the present. He didn't need to look to know that Commodore Ratherford stood in the entrance, his arms folded behind him quietly. He gazed intently at Bill who looked squarely back at him, his jaw set determinedly. "Visiting the prisoners."

"Ah. Having a lovely chat with them, I suppose? About how they murdered Commodore Norrington in cold blood? Or perhaps how you are going to help them escape? Or maybe, Turner, you are trying to talk your son into some sense, considering he has left his wife alone and with child."

Will didn't know how he had gotten up, but before he could stop himself he had reached through the bars and grabbed Ratherford's overcoat, pulling him forward and smashing him into the cell. Will's grip was loosened by Jack, and Ratherford staggered back. But as the guards rushed forward to restrain Will, Ratherford held up a hand. "NO! I shall deal with this. Open the cell."

The guards turned the key in the lock and Ratherford strode in. It was only when Will was face to face with him that he realized the man had to be at least 6'3'', with a muscular build. But it wasn't his body that made Will's insides squirm; it was his piercing gaze and his hawkish appearance that put him on edge.

"Mr. Turner, you have just assaulted _another _commodore of the Royal Fleet. Do you know what the crime for that is?" Will remained silent, so Ratherford's lips curled up into an unpleasant sneer. "A severe whipping. Alcott," he called to one of the guards, who stepped forward. "Take Mr. Turner aboard deck, and tie him to the main mast." 

Will was restrained in iron clappers as he struggled helplessly against Alcott. He managed to kick the guard in the shin, but merely a few moments after he sent the man doubling over in pain, he felt a sharp blow to the nose, and realized that Ratherford had punched him full-on. "Do that again, Mr. Turner, and I will make you worse off than Mr. Sparrow was."

"You son of a –"

"I wouldn't want to be saying that," Ratherford turned to Bill who had made for the commodore. "Your son is in enough trouble already. The next time you lunge for me like that, sir, I will whip him fifty times instead of twenty-five." When Bill remained silent, the commodore nodded slightly. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Brushing aside his vivid dizziness, Will felt himself being dragged to the main deck by Alcott and the other guard. His head felt as if it were made of lead; he couldn't lift it.  So he let it hang loosely as they ripped off his shirt and tied his arms around the main mast. He felt his muscles being stretched and noticed the blindness in his eyes from the sweltering sun, but he ignored both of these things as he heard the most beautiful voice he had heard in a long time.

"WILL!"

Elizabeth sprinted towards him, her jaw slack with shock, her eyes wide and uncomprehending. "What is the meaning of this?" she rounded on Ratherford as he restrained her. "That's my husband!"

"Yes, Mrs. Turner, I am quite aware of that." His gaze lowered to her belly, where she was beginning to show signs of a child, and Elizabeth flushed in embarrassment and anger. "Nevertheless, he has just assaulted me, and the punishment for that is twenty-five lashes." He motioned for the whip, and Alcott handed it to him.

"You liar!" she shrieked as she heard his explanation. "I know protocols of punishment, and that is _not _one of them. The punishment for the assault of an officer is no more than-"

"This is my ship, Mrs. Turner. I am captain, judge, and jury." He leaned in dangerously closed and stared at her intently. Elizabeth forced herself not to blink. "If I decide he deserves two thousand lashes, Mrs. Turner, he shall receive two thousand lashes. And because of your folly-filled interruption, your husband will now receive thirty-five lashes instead of twenty-five." He paused, and Elizabeth felt a rush of anguished tears. "I suggest you remain silent unless you want your husband to be lashed to death."

Elizabeth turned to look for guidance from the crew of the _Victoria Anne_, but all of them looked too afraid to move. They had assembled on the deck in back of Elizabeth. Now, only Ingrid moved forward to comfort her. She wrapped Elizabeth in her arms and rocked her back and forth. "Don't look, darlin', don't look, now. He'll be alright, that one. He's as strong as a bull…"

Elizabeth felt a numbing sensation overcome her entire body. She was terrified for Will, but she couldn't force herself to look. Burrying her head in Ingrid's shoulder, she let out a moan, and felt her body convulse in terror. The helplessness that overcame her made her cry even harder, and soon she was sobbing so violently that she felt as if she were going to be sick.

Oh, Will… 

Ignoring Elizabeth's heart-wrenching sobbing, Ratherford turned back to Will's prostrate body and held the whip tightly in his hands, and sadistic smile spreading over his face. _Justice will be served…_

~*~

It was after the fifteenth lash that Will knew he would die. After each lash, Ratherford had Alcott throw a bucket of saltwater on his back, enhancing the pain tenfold. He groaned, feeling the penetrating rays of sun burn his flesh where it had split on his back. Another lash, another bucket of saltwater…it was almost too much to bear…

_…God, help me…_

Lash sixteen…saltwater…seventeen…saltwater…eighteen… 

Will cried out in pain as Ratherford now began to whip him repeatedly in one spot, sending jolts of pain throughout his entire body. Will's legs collapsed from under him, but he quickly forced himself to stand again, for the ropes restraining his hands did not move, and would've torn his arms right out of their sockets.

Twenty…saltwater…twenty-one… 

Will screamed as another lash covered his entire back this time. He was delirious with the pain…he could feel the blood dripping down his back, feel the grains of salt embed themselves in his flesh. He wanted it to be over, he wanted the pain to end, he wanted to collapse into darkness…

Twenty-five…saltwater…twenty-six…saltwater… 

He let out an anguished scream. He could take this no longer. His mind began to swam, his senses flickered in and out of view. He could hear his heart beating heavily in his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to give Ratherford the pleasure of seeing the true pain in his eyes…

I'm dying… 

_Thirty…saltwater…_

_Help…_

_Thirty-one…saltwater…_

With one last shuddering breath, Will saw the darkness approaching. He tried to push it away, but it looked so calming, so quiet, so comforting. It called out to him, caressed him with tender hands, promised him moments away from pain, from worry, from anything unpleasant…

Thirty-two…saltwater… 

Exhausted, agonized, and weak, Will let the darkness overcome him.

~*~

Fearing that Ingrid would lose her grip on Elizabeth, Bill rushed forward, and grabbed Elizabeth's shoulders. He tried to ignore the fact that his son's body was still hanging loosely, tied to the main mast, bleeding fervently. She struggled against his restraints, so he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and whispered, "Shhh…stop. You're smart, Elizabeth, stop. If you hurt Ratherford, Will's going to get more lashes." He felt Elizabeth's struggles subdue. Instead, they were replaced by low sobs of despair as Will screamed out in pain. Bill pushed all of those thoughts out of his head…he had to be rational.

But he would give anything to maul Ratherford for what he was doing to his son.

He felt Elizabeth's racking sobs on his chest, and tried his best to calm her down. "Shhh…it'll be over soon, it'll all be over soon…"

_It better be over soon, _he told himself, _or Ratherford's going to kill Will._

Suddenly, when Bill thought he could take no more of his son's cries of pain, all sound ceased. A splashing of the saltwater could be heard, but as Bill turned to look back at his son, he noticed that his body hung completely limp. He wasn't moving; the only thing supporting him was the rope tying his body face-down to the main mast.

Oh God, no… 

Losing all grip on reality and logic, he let go of Elizabeth and ran forward, only to receive a blow to the lower back. He collapsed onto the deck and turned to see Alcott standing there, narrowing his eyes at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you, sir."

Wincing at the pain, Bill stood up and turned around to see Elizabeth kneeling upon the deck, sobbing into Ingrid's arms once more. He clenched his fists and growled in frustration. He turned his back towards his son's limp body, unable to stand the sight of his completely mutilated and bloody back. He heard Ratherford order Will to be taken down from his prostrate position. Before he could stop her, Bill saw Elizabeth fly forward, and cradle the unresponsive form of her husband in her lap. He heard her sobs grow stronger, and knew that Will's situation was dire. Thirty-five lashes could kill anyone…

"Take him back to the brig."

"You can't do that!" Bill cried, whirling to face Ratherford. "You have to give him medical attention! You have to-"

"I have to do_ nothing_, sir. I am the captain of this ship. If I order my men to do something, they will do it. I suggest you shut your mouth before I decide there haven't been enough lashes handed out. I would've thought you would have learned by now, considering your son is probably as good as dead."

"You sick son of a bitch." Bill lunged at Ratherford, knocking the commodore to the ground. In a scuffle of punches, cries, and kicks, Bill felt himself being restrained by iron clappers. He was dragged to his feet, his right leg shooting spirals of pain each time he put pressure on it. But he was satisfied to see the commodore's nose was trickling blood, his face white and his eyes wide with shock. 

Ratherford approached Bill put his right up in front of Bill's. "That was very foolish of you, Mr. Turner. Very foolish."

Brandishing his whip as if it were Excalibur, Ratherford stepped back and looked toward Alcott as he pointed to Will's lifeless body. "Throw him in the brig." Wiping his bloody nose on his sleeve, he continued. "But Mr. Turner Senior does not believe that I have given out enough punishments today." He paused, looking over all of the people assembled on the deck, an ill smirk spreading over his hawkish glare. "So, Mr. Alcott, bring me Mr. Sparrow." 

~*~

"By jove. Jack Sparrow?"

"Aye, sir. Here's the paper I found."

The captain of the _Adventure Galley _took the paper and read the article entitled: _Commodore Norrington Murdered._ He shook his head. "I always knew Sparrow was a crazy blighter, but I never knew him to be a murderer."

"Aye, sir. That's what they is sayin' all over this here place."

This place… 

Captain William Kidd glanced up from the paper to survey his surroundings. The Wayfarer's Inn was crowded and rowdy, as usual. Evening girls flirted obscenely with lusty pirates, while the waitresses struggled to serve drinks without getting a grope or a smack on the rump. _Ahh, Tortuga. My second home._

Kidd smirked and put the paper down. "Do you know, when I was searching for pirates, he was my number one target." He thought back to his glory days as a family man in Boston, where he was hired by the governor of New York, Lord Bellmont, had hired him to personally seek out and destroy pirate flag ships. As a well-to-do man from a very prominent family, Kidd was hesitant. But, after encouragement from his mother, he had accepted the offer. Too bad barely six months later, Kidd had turned pirate himself.

"Six months, McAdams, _six months_ I searched high and low for this scallywag, and for six months I got nothing but the wind blowing in my face."

"Aye, sir. I remember hearing about it," agreed the First Mate, taking another swig of rum while eyeing a rather pretty woman of company on the far end of the tavern.

Kidd noticed McAdams's gaze and laughed. "Go for 'er, lad. We're not leaving until tomorrow's high tide. You've got plenty of time."

McAdams smiled, his brown eyes glistening mischievously. "Thank ye, sir. See you at dock tomorrow." Kidd watched his first mate and his newly found company leave the tavern, and shook his head. He knew his men all too well. 

He turned back to the paper and read the article once more through. Narrowing his eyes in concentration for a moment, he focused on one line in particular: "William Turner is the husband to Mrs. Elizabeth turner, formerly Ms. Elizabeth Swann, Governor Swann's daughter…"

"Lordy," he muttered to himself, smiling. "Well, cousin Elizabeth, what have you gotten yourself into?"

He hadn't heard from his cousin in what seemed to be forever. When she and her father – his uncle – moved to the Caribbean, his father moved them to the colonies in America to pursue lucrative trade options there. They had always been good friends, but had lost all contact when they had parted ways, more than ten years ago.

He glanced down at the paper, and then took another swig of his wine. _My, my, my…so you _did _marry a pirate after all, eh? _he thought, remembering all of the times as children when they would play 'pirates and ships'.  When her father found out what she had been playing, he nearly collapsed of a stroke. The look on his uncle's face still brought a smile to Kidd's lips when he thought of it. But he let her marry a pirate? Well, people change. And no one knew more about change than he did.

_Well, Elizabeth, perhaps it is time to see you once more, _he thought, drinking deeply into his mug. _We need to gather more supplies anyways…might as well dock at Port Royal._

Leaving a shilling on the table as a tip for his waitress, Kidd stood up and stretched, surveying his surroundings. He grinned as he realized nothing had changed since he had arrived at the Wayfarer's Inn a couple of hours ago; people were being thrown across the room, men were laughing rowdily, women of the night were busy trying to find business. But this was Tortuga: if one was not pillaging, plundering, or being obscenely active, they were considered to be mad.

Strolling along quietly, Kidd found himself at the docks. He stood for a few moments, listening to the soft breeze, the quiet rustling of the delicate waves upon the distant shore. The call of the sea…his one true home, the only place he belonged…

Deciding there was nothing better to do, and feeling quite exhausted, he inhaled once more and boarded the _Adventure Galley _He had barely sat down in his quarters when a knock came at the door.

"You know what to do," he replied.

The door opened, and his ship's physician, a young lad known as Smithe, entered. His blonde, shaggy hair stood out unevenly, and Kidd smiled at the love-bites on his neck. _Well, one of us has had worthwhile company tonight…_

"Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I was wonderin' as to where we were a-headin' tomorrow mornin'."

Kidd looked at him for a long moment before answering. "Mr. Smithe, we have a change of plans. When the crew gets back, inform them that we are not going to Jamaica. We're setting sail for Port Royal first thing come high tide."

~*~

Everything about Captain William Kidd is accurate…courtesy of _The Guide to a Pirate's Life _from my local library (yes, he was a real pirate). There is going to be a lot of history in this story…I'll try to be as accurate as I can be!

The torture that Will went through, the Piracy Act, and Kidd are all historically true. Go research!

Chapter two coming soon…please, PLEASE review and let me know what you think.


	2. How Fate Flies

**Disclaimer: **You know.

**A/N: **40 reviews???? Do I deserve this monumental treatment? Thank you! ****Hug** **That's really sweet of you guys…I was hoping the new chapter would be a start to a good new story, and I'm glad at all of the responses I received. Here's chapter two!

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Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye 

How Fate Flies 

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"Would you please explain this?"

Governor Swann raised his eyebrows in an attempt to hide his outrage. "Explain what exactly, sir?"

Sir Raleigh Etheridge cleared his throat and gestured to the paper sitting atop of the mahogany desk in his office. "Explain your daughter's connection with these…pirates."

The governor stiffened and folded his hands behind his back. "I don't feel that is relevant to our acquisition of Jamaican territories. In fact, I see no relevance at all." _Damn the man, _Governor Swann swore silently, squeezing his hands behind his back. _Pompous, insignificant diplomats who are completely – _

"Yet there is a relevance, Governor Swann," countered Etheridge, rising stiffly from his seat behind the desk. The sixty-some-odd year old representative of the colonies of Jamaica wore his spectacles low on his long, thin nose. His icy blue gaze met Governor Swann's as he walked around the desk and said matter-of-factly, "The gist of it is, governor, this is a tarnish on the reputation for us landholders in the Caribbean."

The governor could hardly hold back his anger as he responded, "Are you saying that my daughter is an insult to your reputation?"

"Hardly," came the monotone reply. "I'm saying that your son-in-law is a convicted murderer of one of the most respectable commodores in the English navy."

"Convicted?" Swann gave a short, forced laugh. "Convicted? I read about no trial, Sir Etheridge. In this great empire of ours, one cannot be convicted properly without a trial."

Silence ensued while Etheridge studied the governor before him. Then, his wrinkled and sun-soaked face crunched into what seemed to be a smile. "Please think realistically, my good man. How would the public perceive the efficiency of a governor whose only daughter is married to a murderous outlaw? And what's more, that very governor is now meeting with the Royal Parliament, deciding our country's future existence. That," the man bowed slightly, "is why this is in good need of an explanation."

Dumbstruck and finding himself crumbling slightly under the man's demanding and pretentious gaze, Swann steadied himself. He cleared his throat and straightened himself. "I shall find out the details, Sir Etheridge," he found himself saying. 

The man offered another forced smile. "Good. I'm glad that we have reached an agreement, then. You are to go back and settle this matter once and for all. We have arranged for your trip back to Port Royal. You shall return within the year, once all of this has been put to rest."

_You mean once all of this has been buried, along with Will Turner, _the governor thought maliciously. Etheridge seemed to read his mind. "You must understand, Governor Swann, His Highness King James' reputation as a worthy ruler is already unsteady, as you know. He has many enemies; his relation to pirates, however vague, could be used as a crutch against him. Meeting with a man whose daughter is married to a felon is not healthy for his reputation. The King is expected to bring order to his people, order to the colonies." Etheridge reached for a sterling silver teapot, and poured himself some tea carefully. He lifted the cup to his lips and took a slight sip, setting the cup down next to him. He turned back to look at Swann. "This incident has been published in all of the major newspapers under England's flag. It's extremely grand news, governor, and it has made some people rather nervous. You understand, don't you?"

All the governor could bring himself to do was nod.

"The pirate age was thought to be over. But with the emergence of Turner and this Sparrow character, it seems as though the age is returning with a vengeance. The His Highness needs to act decisively and without mercy. It is his only diplomatic solution." When Swann didn't respond, Etheridge gave a quaint cough and offered his hand. "I'm glad this will all be dealt with properly, good sir."

"Yes, good day, Sir Etheridge." He gave a slight bow and a forced smile, and strode from the room, closing the oak-inlaid doors behind him. Exhaling, he shook his head and rubbed his temples. Contempt for the English diplomatic committee came flooding back to him. He narrowed his eyes and gazed off into the distance, momentarily wondering what in God's green earth he was going to do.

_I can't betray my daughter's husband._

But the message, however vague, had been startlingly blunt to the governor.

Kill Turner and save the reputation of the King. Or suffer the consequences. If he helped Will, who was declared a pirate, he would be charged with the "aid of piracy", or, in other words, the compliance to commit a felony.

And the consequences of aiding a pirate were not superb by any means. A pirate was a felon. A felon was a traitor. A traitor was a danger to the King, thus a danger to all of England's loyal subjects. And only one fate awaits a traitor to England.

Death.

~*~

As the world slowly came back into focus, the man moaned. Salty air filled his nostrils as he inhaled deeply, filling his slightly stagnant lungs. He wished he could sit up, but he knew it was no use; the thousands of sounds and smells were all rushing at him at once, and he was afraid if he rushed into the land of the living too fast, it would knock him back down again. Which, needless to say, would be the last thing he needed.

"Dolan?"

_That's my name._

_Isn't it?_

"Dolan."

_Of course it's my name. Bloody hell, what a fool. Don't know my own damn name._

"Dolan…"

"Aye?" Blurry light-filled surroundings met his eyes as he opened them, first the left one, then the right one. He looked up into a woman's face, terribly out of focus and almost blocked out by the excessive sunlight invading his eyeballs. He squinted and saw her face. It was a delicate cream color, her chestnut hair flowing down to meet him…

_I'm dead. How bloody peachy._

"Damn it all."

"What?"

"I'm dead," he responded dully.

The sound of melancholy laughter filled his ears. "Not yet, you aren't."

Warm liquid reached his lips and he drank fully, silently grateful to the angel who gave it to him. It was a dull, watered-down tea, but to him, it tasted like honey from the Promised Land. "Thanks, reckon."

"Your welcome."

A sudden understanding overtook him, and he asked abruptly, "Elizabeth?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He was about to say _I thought you were an angel_, but that sounded ridiculous even to his ears. Especially considering she was married and with child…Turner-boy would have him hanging by his fingers from the main mast.

"What happened? Where am I? And why the hell am I so goddamn confused?" he asked, frustrated with himself. He sat up and felt a wave of nausea hit him, but he ignored it as he swung his feet over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes. They were on a ship; he could tell by the obvious swaying of the floor under his feet. 

"But we were just in a cave."

"Pardon?" 

"A cave…you know, with rocks? And crevasses? And…holy mother, and Barbossa." He suddenly remembered everything…except how he got here. "Wait…are we…is he…what happened…did you…?" He realized how thick he sounded, so he shut his mouth, took a deep breath, and looked at Elizabeth. But before he spoke, he noticed the look on her face, and felt his heart sink.

Her cheeks lined with old tear stains, her hair tangled, her face smeared with dirt, she looked as if she had been to hell and back. Her eyes were dull and mournful, her lips curled slightly downward in a modified pout. Light rings lined her eyes and from the slackened facial features, Dolan guessed she hadn't slept in a week. 

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," he mumbled, forgetting his aggravations. "Elizabeth…what happened?"

She looked away, and he saw her bite her lower lip. She remained quiet for a long moment before answering. "Nothing…nothing. It's nothing."

"Like hell it is," he rebuffed. He grabbed her arm as gently as his uncoordinated motor skills could muster. She looked at him, and he saw she was crying. "Nothing, eh? That be why you're crying, then, reckon."

Elizabeth pulled her arm away and wiped her face furiously. "It's nothing," she responded, somewhat bitterly. "Nothing you can concern yourself with."

"Oblige me and make me concerned with it."

Elizabeth looked at him resentfully for a moment before the slackness returned to her otherwise beautiful features. "Jack and Will…were punished…tried to stop, but…Ratherford, that bastard…" Her explanation was racked with uneven sobs as she struggled to hold back her tears. Dolan felt himself swell with uncertain rage as he saw how upset she was. 

Jack and Will, punished? And who the blazes is Ratherford? 

"Shhh, calm yerself, lass. Shhh." He waited for her sobs to die down before he pressed the matter again. "What happened?"

As Elizabeth explained the events that had transpired, Dolan's entire soul fell flat. However, it was somewhere in between the cave-in and Jack's whipping, Dolan felt his body fall numb. The warm realization that the man he had hated was his very rescuer had been overshadowed by the news of Bill Turner's mysterious return, Anamaria's grave injuries, and Jack and Will's accusation for murdering the commodore. 

"He whipped Will and Jack?"

All Elizabeth could do was nod. All Dolan could do was prevent himself from killing Ratherford.

"How are they?"

She paused. "Will's unconscious…he's healing well, though…I see him every day when I'm not looking after you or Anamaria. His wounds have begun to close, and the stitches he was given are beginning to take hold. His back is less swollen, and his slight fever has disappeared…he'll be better shortly," she added, more to assure herself than to inform him. She wiped her face again, leaving red streaks along her tears' trail. Dolan peered at her a few moments before asking, "And Jack?"

Elizabeth bit her lip again, and she shook her head. Dolan felt his heart rise to his throat. "What did that mean?" he growled, growing alarmed. Again, Elizabeth turned away from him, inhaling deeply, but refusing to answer. He grabbed her arm again, this time none to gently, and she gasped in surprise. "_What happened to Jack?"_ He repeated.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to reply, but a muffled sound came out instead as her eyes welled with tears again. Now completely and wildly concerned, Dolan stood up and stumbled to the door. His legs gave out twice before he successfully managed to exit his room, and he practically had to crawl to a door on his left, hoping that was where Jack was. Growling in frustration at his lack of physical wellness, he felt a sharp pain in his right side as he pulled himself up, using the doorknob as a sturdy means of support. He heard Elizabeth make directly for him, but before she could stop him, Dolan threw open the door.

Struck dumb, all he could do was crumple to the ground again in blunt shock. Ingrid, who had been sitting at the bedside, stood up and cried out Dolan's name in a mixture of relief, happiness, and sadness. She grabbed his underarm and helped him up, embracing him and speaking to him. But he was too busy focused on the limp form that was Jack, lying in the bed, face down, his back exposed to all who dared to look.

Dried blood, bits of flesh, along with blood-drenched rags, completely covered the pirate. His shirt had been removed in order to give the wounds room to heal. Lashes covered his back, but unlike anything he had ever seen before. They were not defined lines; in fact, Dolan couldn't make out where Jack had been lashed. His whole back had been mutilated mercilessly, for what crime, he could not imagine.

He let out a disgruntled groan of rage, shock, and disgust. He refused to move closer, but he couldn't tear his eyes away either. As he stared, he noticed that beads of sweat formed on Jack's back and bare arms, as well as on the nape of his neck. His face was turned away from Dolan, but the rum runner knew that the pirate was in grave condition. 

"…caught the same fever that he had the first time Ratherford laid hands on 'im," commented Ingrid soothingly, eyeing Dolan. She treated him carefully, trying not to spark a momentarily low flame burning in his gut. " 'is sick, alright…but Jack'll make it…too strong not to, crazy man that 'e is…"

Even though Dolan wasn't listening, he knew Ingrid was just saying it to make him feel better. Other than that intuition, he wasn't hearing her at all. In fact, he wasn't seeing, he wasn't smelling … he wasn't perceiving anything. All he could hear was his heart pulsate in his chest, his heavy breathing coinciding with his dried out mouth and clenched jaw. He eyed Jack again, noticing every blood-stained rag, seeing every fleshy wound, comprehending the very slow, deliberate rising and falling of Jack's back.

"My God…"

It was all he was able to say.

"My God…"

~*~

Oh, the vicious Gods… 

_"The ship's mine, Sparrow. All mine."_

_"No, mate. The ship has a mind of her own."_

_"AYE! Yes, Jack, she does. But where be her mind today? She's letting me strand you on this island, all alone…funny how fate flies, isn't it?"_

_…he was on the island, soaking wet, holding a compass that didn't point north, a dulled sword, and a pistol with one shot…one shot that was meant for one man…_

_…the rum had made it all better. All of his bitterness, his sorrow, his contempt, his rationalization and logic…all of it, drowned in one bottle. He could almost feel the waves lap at his feet, tickling his bare toes and sun-burned calves…_

_…oh, to be free…_

_"But what a ship is…what _The Black Pearl _really is…is freedom."_

_…to be free from the hellish heat that surrounded him, to be free from the agonizing pain that tore through his body, to be free from all consciousness, all worry…_

_…he wished for that beach again…to be stranded with his rum, comforted by its burgundy glare and its soothing persona, without responsibility or strife…_

_…or pain…_

_…oh, the pain!_

_…He wanted to be back in Tortuga, laughing with his crew at the _Wayfarer's Inn_, to be dancing with Anamaria and Gibbs and Cotton and his parrot…to be standing on the deck, staring out into the moonlight with the wind at his back…to be genuinely happy…_

_…happiness…what a fleeting sensation, happiness. It never lasted long; when it came, it vanished without saying goodbye. Only when he was captain of _The Pearl _was he ever truly happy._

_But his happiness had washed away…_

_…oh, the pain, the suffering…the heat, swelteringly burning his every motion…_

_"Had enough, Sparrow? Shall we whip you for each year you have been engaging in piracy?"_

_…oh, he had, and he did…whipped him well over the number of years he had been a pirate…whipped him to the point of unconsciousness, just like Will._

_He had prayed for death countless times, but it had never taken him…the cool calm had teased him but refused to dominate his mind…the days, the weeks, the eternity of agony that he had suffered…_

_But to die now? After everything, after all that he had done? Foolhearty, really…pirates aren't supposed to die, prostrate and helpless at the hands of a merciless commodore…_

_…the pain came in waves now, thick, hot, molten lava waves, lapping at his flesh, drowning out any ounce of rationalization left in him…_

_…to die…_

_…no, don't die…what a waste, Jack, what a waste of a life…_

_…no longer captain, no longer in control, no longer infamous, no longer a pirate…_

_…no longer alive…_

_…but no matter how heavy the waves of pain came, or how relentless his body convulsed in fits of sweat and chill, he would not surrender. He would not give in to his body's weakness…he would not give up…he would not become another pirate who had left his name behind him as he moved on to the unknown depths beyond life…he would survive._

_I'm Jack Sparrow…and I'll live to be captain again. Because what a ship is…is freedom. And before I die, I will own freedom…_

~*~

"Delusional, you say?"

"Yes," responded Alcott, standing at attention in Ratherford's office. "Completely delusional with a high fever. To be honest, sir, I don't know how he could survive."

Ratherford's eyes narrowed as he gazed at the guard in front of him. "That bad?"

"If I may be so bold, sir, you bestowed him forty lashes."

"Yes, so I did." His lips curled up into an evil smile. He remembered whipping Sparrow until he cried out in pain, until his body went limp like Turner's. It had been weeks since the lashing, but he remembered it vividly. He had given Sparrow what he deserved…what all pirates deserved. Turner had gotten off lucky, simply because he is the son-in-law of Governor Swann. If it had been up to him, Turner would be off just as bad as Sparrow. He glanced up at the awaiting soldier. "You are dismissed, Alcott."

"Aye, sir."

Glancing down at his map, Ratherford plotted a few more points, outlining his journey back to Port Royal. He had made remarkable time, and should, if all weather conditions permitted, a safe and uneventful landing in the harbor by tomorrow night.

Nighttime was the perfect veil of protection; he could not afford letting the villagers see Turner's current condition. Although the word would get around, none of the townspeople would believe his cruelties unless they saw it first hand. For the Ratherford they knew was a gentle soul, a boy who had been an orphan, his parents abandoning him in a hole full of lust, greed, and crime.

He had only been back to Tortuga once since his parents abandoned him there; during his training, he had been stationed at the small military base to "keep order" in the town. To try to "keep order" in the town was like finding the greenest blade of grass in a field. But his return had left him more resentful of pirates than he had ever been. He hated their flamboyant lifestyles, their freedoms and lawlessness and greed. He wished every pirate a humiliating death.

Every pirate. That included his father.

He was too young to know his father's real name. He knew he sailed under the Jolly Roger, and he knew his mother was a local whore. They had found him too much of a responsibility, and left him to fend for himself in Tortuga at the tender age of four. A kind soul had taken him in ten years later, and sailed him north to England, where he had enlisted into the naval service. 

He found out some years later that his mother had died of typhoid. As far as he was concerned, it's what she got for using her body as a means of support. As for his father…he never heard anything of him, nor did he really care.

Thus, his hatred of pirates flared within him more than ever. _Yet no one must know of my harshness towards Turner and Sparrow, _Ratherford promised himself. _No one. _Luckily, the only evidence there was to his actions were the two pirates themselves. Still, his reputation would not be tarnished. He would, for the first time in his life, be respected by all.

And if that meant eventually destroying the all evidence, so be it.

~*~

Interesting? Please review! Next chapter: Captain Kidd…huzzah. 


	3. Sunsets

**Disclaimer: **Do I really have to write these anymore?

**A/N: **Shall I thank you now or later for being such awesome reviewers? 

**________**

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye 

Sunsets 

________

"Yer cousin?"

"Aye." 

"That bonny lass is yer cousin?"

The captain nodded.

"That's bloody terrible for ye, cap'n. Can't nearly have as much fun with 'er, then, can ye?" 

There was an uproar of hearty laughter in the mess hall of the _Adventure Galley. _Captain Kidd smiled at his crew who was vigorously drinking their whiskey and rum, content with the prospect of heading toward Port Royal. It had been many long, tiresome months since they had been safe enough to set foot on land, and Kidd still wasn't sure if it was safe yet. But, being the daredevil he was, Kidd simply didn't care. He had seen enough of the sea, and longed to step on land again, even if it meant in stuffy, self-sufficient Port Royal.

"Now, now, gentlemen, she _is _still my cousin. Besides, you're not to be pirates on land, remember?" Kidd chided while still wearing his smile, taking another swig of his Italian wine.

The crew grumbled and rolled their eyes, quite aware of their required behavior on soil. They had stolen quite a few nicely-made knickers and overcoats a while back from a trade ship south of the coast of England, and they now made it a habit to disguise themselves as gentlemen – or, as "respectable landlubbers", as the crew liked to declare it. 

"Cap'n," called Smithe, the ship's physician, from the corner. "I still ain't sure as to why we is a-goin' to Port Royal in the first place, if you don' mind me askin'." 

Kidd looked at the young blonde-haired recruit, and smiled. Something about that boy reminded Kidd of how he was ten years ago… "We are going there to say hello to my cousin Elizabeth, of whom, as far as I can tell, you all are quite fond of already." Snickers and grins filled the mess hall, and Kidd drank deeply from his wine, smiling inwardly himself. "However, I am also interested in seeing a trial of a certain famous pirate captain and his apparent accomplice."

"AYE! That be Jack Sparrow, cap'n."

Kidd nodded. "That's the one, yes."

"Read about 'im, the blighter," Smithe piped up again, nodding wisely. "Says he murdered ol' Norrington."

"Yes," Kidd answered thoughtfully, rotating his mug in his hands. Finally, he said, "But something about this whole situation doesn't seem to be right."

"Aye. Sparrow's not that kind o' pirate, sir," his first mate, McAdams, said. "Met 'im a couple a years back, celebratin' in Tortuga. Weird chap, bloody crazy…but not a murderin' bone in 'im."

"Sparrow's a pirate, McAdams, o' course he got murderin' bones! Jus' not murderin' in cold blood," concluded Smithe. 

McAdams rolled his eyes at the young man. "Murder _is _in cold blood, ye dolt."

"Who is you calling a dolt?" Smithe asked, standing up, his eyes wide and offended.

McAdams merely laughed, along with the rest of the crew. "You is young, boy, best sit yerself down now and save ye a beatin'." 

Smithe ignored him and pushed aside his chair, making his way towards the first mate. McAdams stood up and narrowed his eyes as Smithe lunged at the other man, like a determined wolf ready to take on prey that was obviously too big for him. Kidd saw what was happening faster than it happened. He jumped up, vaulted over the table, and planted himself in between McAdams and Smithe, his hand at his sword.

"Alright, alright, that's enough. _Enough!_" Kidd emphasized, pushing Smithe away with his free hand. "Smithe, to your quarters, _now_. The rest of you, get a good night's sleep. We land in Port Royal tomorrow in the early evening. I don't want you to look like a bunch of rusty pirates when we get there…you should look like respectable gentlemen."

"Respectable landlubbers!" someone shouted from the corner. There was good-hearted laughter as the crew made their way past Kidd and to bed. The captain eyed Smithe's back as he walked away and paused a few moments before shouting, "Smithe! A word, please."

Smithe froze in the doorway, but eventually moved aside to let the rest of the crew exit the mess hall. Kidd sighed and rubbed his neck, using his other hand to motion to a wooden chair next to the one he was sitting in himself. "Care for a seat?" he asked as Smithe turned around to face him.

"No, sir." The response was distant, if not hurt.

Kidd glanced up at Smithe whose face had flushed a slight red. His hands were clenched at his sides, and he stared directly beyond Kidd, apparently refusing to look at him in the eye. His breathing was heavy and loud as his blue eyes shone with embarrassment and contempt. The captain automatically felt guilty for the boy's unhappiness. 

"You must understand, Smithe, why I did that."

"Aye, sir."

"No. Don't give me another uncomprehending "aye, sir". That will not do in my company, is that understood?"

Smithe glanced quickly at Kidd, but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, it is understood, sir."

Kidd sighed. "Good. Now, Mr. Smithe, tell me what you're _really_ thinking."

Smithe looked hesitant at first, as if he had just been asked to attack a sleeping lion. He shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, fairly docile at first, but seemingly growing uncomfortable as time went on. His eyes shifted from the wall in front of him to Kidd's face, down to the floor, back to the wall again. He seemed lost.

"Smithe, you do realize that we're on a timed schedule, yes? Now please, if you're going to tell me, do it. Else, I shall make myself scarce and go to bed where I –"

"It ain't fair!" Smithe suddenly cried aloud. "It ain't fair, cap'n! Just 'cause I is the young'n on board this here ship, don' mean I don' know nothin'." He paused, wiping the sweat off of his face. "I mean, sir, I is eighteen! I isn' ignorant, sir, I've seen my share o' blood and battle. I jus' – I jus' – "

"You just don't feel like you belong here."

Smithe turned to look at Kidd incredulously for a few moments before nodding slowly. "Aye, sir…like I don' belong here," he repeated.

Kidd gazed across the room for a few moments, silently reveling in what he had just said. He knew Smithe didn't belong there; it was obvious. The boy was as sharp as an executor's axe…he knew more about medicine, both herbal and practical, than anyone Kidd had ever known. He had picked Smithe up in a port off Madagascar one year, eyeing him and deeming him fit to become the doctor aboard the_ Adventure Galley. _The boy was delighted – barely fourteen at the time – and willingly came aboard to help Kidd out.

But Smithe never fit in. He knew too much about what prospects lay ahead in that vast sea of opportunity. Deep down inside, Kidd knew the boy was yearning to be elsewhere. Smithe knew he was too good for the likes of a pirate crew with a pirate ship, but out of his deep admiration for Kidd, the young lad had decided to stick it out, healing anything from a bad case of sunburn to a nearly fatal case of pneumonia. Whatever it was, Smithe was brilliant.

The only problem was, he was never formally educated. And to make it in the world of pompous, tea-drinking idiots, you needed schooling. Schooling, in Kidd's perspective was a complete waste of time, money, and effort. Unfortunately, there was a stark truth to it: even if you had the brain capacity of a plank of wood, if you were formally educated, you could do anything you wanted.

_Formal education, _Kidd thought to himself, slightly shaking his head. _What a bloody joke. I was formally educated, and I turned out to be a pirate. How charming._

"Sir?"

Kidd looked up into the young face. 

"Sir…we is a lot alike, you an' me," he began, somewhat uncomfortably. "I…I just wan' to thank ye, sir, fer bein' so kind and the like."

Kidd eyed him and forced a smile. "My pleasure. Now, off to bed, Smithe. We arrive in Port Royal tomorrow. And if McAdams gives you trouble, tell him there's a rope waiting to participate in a keelhaul session whenever I fancy, yes?"

Smithe smiled juvenilely and nodded. "Aye, sir. G'nite, sir."

"Goodnight, Smithe."

~*~

As she stepped into the seemingly stoic foyer in the darkness of the night, she heard her breathing echo around her. It was an eerie sensation, one that made her spine tingle, regardless of the familiar Caribbean heat. She absentmindedly closed the ornately carved door behind her, the clicking resonating off of the unnaturally clean marble floors. 

"Miss?"

Jumping at the delicate voice behind her, Elizabeth turned to see Estrella, her maid, standing in her night-garments with a single candle lit. The flickering flames illuminated her face so she looked almost ethereal as she stared uncertainly at Elizabeth. 

"Yes, Estrella, it's me."

"Oh, miss, you're back!" A genuine smile crossed her face. It was almost enough to make Elizabeth smile back.

Almost.

"Where's Mr. Turner, miss?"

Will… 

A pain like nothing she had ever experienced before sliced open her heart. She gasped slightly, realizing what she was doing back at her old house in the first place. She needed her father…and fast. 

"Estrella, where's my father?"

"He's in England, miss, but he shall be returning shortly, I'm informed."

"Shortly? How long?" she choked, panic rising in her chest.

Estrella bowed her head slightly. "I do not know for certain, miss, I'm sorry."

Elizabeth shook her head, forcing back the tears yearning to break free from her eyes. She sighed expressively and wrung her hands, her eyes dashing from one side of the intricately designed foyer to the other, as if she would visually find an answer to the grave dangers that lay ahead for her husband. Shaking her head in silent contempt, she struggled to look as if she had at least an ounce of control over her feelings. But, being the good maid she was, Estrella knew better.

"Miss, something's wrong?"

Elizabeth didn't say or do anything. Instead, her whole body trembling, she crossed the marble floor and sat down upon one of the steps. She dropped her head into her hands, a deep wave of regret consuming her body so forcefully she felt as if she would be ripped apart. Listening to the vague sounds of the ocean mixed in with the howling wind, she wished she was with Will now, when he needed her the most. She longed to be in his arms, to smell the familiar scent of metal and fire on his tanned skin, to laugh with him over dinner, to kiss him in the  moonlight, to just go with him…

"Let's go, Will! Go with me!"

_He looked at her uncertainly, eyeing the governor's house with slight disdain. "Miss Swann, do you think this is…er…a good idea?"_

_"Oh, for heaven's sake, Will! Stop worrying about everything and start to have fun!" she shouted over the gusty winds, giggling as she released her hair from its elegant up-do to let it flow freely in the surrounding air._

_Will still didn't seem too pleased, his eyes darting back towards her house. "But Miss Swann…"_

_"William Turner," Elizabeth began, placing her hands on her hips. "If you are going to call me Miss Swann, I shall have to tell my father that you have been dragging me out of the house against my own will each night."_

_He gaped at her. "Miss – er, I beg to differ. _You're _the one who has been dragging _me _to the shore each dusk to watch the sunset with you. _I _am completely innocent."_

_Elizabeth laughed, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the rocky cliff. "Come on, stop being a baby."_

_He scoffed resentfully. "I am _not _a baby, I'm fourteen."_

_"Then start acting like it."_

_Will remained silent as he was being dragged along by his sleeve. She grinned mischievously to herself as the wind caressed her face, spraying her with the occasional cooling seawater that surrounded them. Down the hills they strode, Elizabeth still pulling Will, until they reached a smooth  plateau. From there, one could look straight down and see they were standing upon a cliff made of sharp, jutting rocks. And straight ahead of them, in all its magnificence and splendor, was the sunset._

_Like a mysteriously illuminated orb, the sun shone brilliantly straight ahead of them, its tropical orange color teasing the eye. The light blues, pinks, reds, and golds that enfolded themselves around the sun sparked even the dullest imagination. The dark silhouettes of clouds passed ahead of them, only temporarily blocking the sun's warm and inviting rays. Elizabeth smiled, realizing that this place, standing here with Will, was the only place she ever truly was happy._

_"Aren't you glad you came?" she asked, still staring at the sunset. Will didn't answer. She turned to ask him again when her words caught in her throat, unable to formulate themselves into a logical pattern. _

_He was staring at her with an intensity she had never known. At her young age she couldn't comprehend it, and found herself unreasonably flushed. Why was he looking at her so? And why did that strange look make her feel so…good?_

_It was immediately after Elizabeth thought this that Will looked away. His face turned red, even in the sinking sunlight, and the wonderful yet mysterious sensation in her chest eased a bit. She wished it wouldn't…she had enjoyed it so much._

_"I'm sorry, Miss Swann," she heard him murmur, gazing out into the horizon. "That wasn't appropriate."_

_Elizabeth snorted, drawing the surprised look from Will. She smirked. "Don't be so polite. It's so annoying."_

_"Your father, along with society, looks up to proper gentlemen. Isn't it one of those gentlemen who you intend to marry?"_

_The question caught her off-guard. It had seemed forced, almost pained, and yet so out of character for Will to say. She glanced at him uneasily and then back at the descending sun. "No."_

_A shocked pause filled the air. "No?"_

_"No."_

_Pause._

_"Then who?"_

_Elizabeth thought for a minute, wondering what had prompted her reply. She knew she was destined to be matched smartly with a well-to-do man. But another part of her, perhaps her intuition, screamed at her that she would not become a diplomat's wife, smiling incoherently, acting as nothing more than an object of pleasure. It wasn't her, it had never been her…and it hadn't been her mother, either._

_"A pirate." The response came coolly, smoothly. _

_Too smoothly for Will. "A…a _what_?"_

_"Pirate, Will, pirate. You know, with ships, and swords – "_

_"Yes, Miss Swann, I know."_

_"I thought I told you not to call me that."_

_"So you did."_

_As she looked back at him, she saw a twinkle in his eyes. Although he was no longer looking at her, she could feel a growing sense of security surround her. Not realizing herself, she suddenly found that she had reached out for the boy's hand. Will turned his head toward her, a curious and foreign look on his face. Yet from the intensity now reaching his eyes for the second time, Elizabeth knew he didn't object in the slightest._

_Holding Will's hand while watching the sunset over the tropical waters was a memory she knew she would never forget…_

"Miss?"

Elizabeth turned her head to see Estrella staring at her worriedly. "Miss, you're awful tired. Come, let me help you to your bed."

Dragging her feet lethargically up the stairs, Elizabeth found herself almost too tired to move when they reached her room. Estrella helped her put on a freshly cleaned nightgown, turned down the covers and helped Elizabeth into bed. With a quiet "goodnight, miss" she had left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft _click_.

The soft breeze entering through her open window intertwined with the soft rustling of the leaves outside, Elizabeth felt a stream of tears descend her face as she hugged her pillow tight. She resolved to speak with her father as soon as he arrived in Port Royal. She was determined to describe Ratherford's cruelties, Will and Jack's innocence, and her own terrifying experience amongst Barbossa and his crew.

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth forced herself to think of something else besides the past months of horror. She saw Will's face, smiling brightly…she could feel his hands caress her face, his soft kisses covering her lips, his comforting voice speaking lovingly to her…

She could see sunsets over rocky cliffs…she could smell the tropical scent all around her…she remembered Will's intense gaze that day as they watched the sun descend…she remembered the touch of his rough yet gentle hands on hers…and she realized that at that exact moment, she had fallen in love with him.

Oh, Will…

~*~

"Oh, hell."

Annoyed, especially tired, and in no mood for confrontation, Gibbs grumbled to himself under his breath. Bastards, all of 'em, he thought threateningly as a soldier handcuffed him and removed him from Ratherford's ship. Roughly lead down the disembarking plank to the firmness of land, he felt himself teeter, not used to the immobile earth. He eyed Port Royal and felt himself recoil; a bloody haven of those sick folk known as politicians. God, he hated them. Made everything worse, to be sure.

"Onward, you!" He felt a sharp bayonet threaten his lower back, and with an insubordinate growl, Gibbs complied. Ratherford leading the way, they were marched up to the holding cells of the port town, three of them per cell. He was shoved into a cell with a sadistic-looking Dolan. He eyed the rum runner and thought best of it not to ask what the matter was. Next to him they placed Ingrid and Anamaria, who was carried in on a makeshift stretcher. The soldiers placed the stretcher down inside the cell as Ingrid eyed them maliciously. Next they carried in Will who lay perfectly lifeless just like Anamaria had, his ghostly white face glistening in the soft rays of the moon, which entered from the barred windows. He was placed in a cell with Ingrid and the limp form of Anamaria, and the guard turned the key in the lock, securing all three of them in place.

"Woman," came a sharp call from the door.

  
Ingrid turned to look at Ratherford, but remained silent. 

"You shall tend to both that pirate-lady and Turner, is that clear?"

She didn't respond, but Ratherford didn't seem to care. Instead, he turned around and gazed behind him, a sick curl appearing on his lips. Gibbs craned his neck to see two soldiers carrying a third body in on a stretcher. Only this form was not limp; rather, it was shivering, writhing, moaning and groaning incoherently.

"Jack?"

Gibbs's mouth fell open as the two soldiers placed him and the stretcher down inside his own cell. He looked down upon the prostrate form of Jack, lying there, his face covered in a cold sweat, shivering, groaning, and shaking. His hands wandered from his chest to his neck as if he were dreaming. His eyes were partially open, but Gibbs knew Jack couldn't see a thing.

He knew the whipping had been bad, but to see him like this…

"Holy mother of mercy…"

A door slammed somewhere in the distance, but Gibbs took no notice; he was too busy absorbed in the horrors he saw. He knelt down beside Jack and looked at the once-fearless pirate captain of The Black Pearl. He couldn't believe he was staring at the same man. Unfortunately, by the look of things, Gibbs realized what a dire situation he was in. Convulsions, delusions, cold sweats…all signs of a usually fatal fever: Fools' Fever. The fever a pirate gets when he's been unruly. The fever a pirate gets when he has been punished. The fever a pirate gets before he falls unconscious…

…and never wakes up.

"Here."

Gibbs turned to see Dolan take off a blanket that he had wrapped around his arms and place it on Jack's body. The captain didn't notice.

"What now?" he asked, shaking his head. "What now?"

Dolan remained silent, and Gibbs could tell the rum runner was trying to keep his rage in check. "Now, we wait."

"For what?"

"For a bloody miracle, how the hell do I know?" Dolan retorted, standing up and turning his back. It was silent for a long while before he spoke again. "I can't stand to see him like this."

Gibbs silently nodded. Rubbing his beard and staring at the turned back of his cellmate, Gibbs tried to think of something…anything…that could get them out of this godforsaken mess. Unfortunately, he wasn't as swift (nor as daft) as Jack was…

Jack…

"Damn it all to hell, we can't just bloody sit here!" Dolan screamed in a fit of rage, kicking the cell and abruptly growing restless. "We've got to do something."

"Then…do…it."

Gibbs looked to Dolan, who in turn looked at Gibbs. Neither of them had spoken those weak, raspy words. Only one person remained who could have. It can't be, he's delirious…

"Jack?"

But the captain didn't respond. He merely shook his head, groaning in protest. He shivered with cold again, and was now breathing heavily. 

"Here…turn him on his front, reckon. It's his back that's a bother." 

Gibbs gently reached out for Jack's arms, trying not to touch his back. Yet it was unavoidable, and when Gibbs lay a delicate hand on the pirate's back, he gave a yelp of pain, shaking his head again, grumbling incessantly. They eased him slowly onto his stomach, and Gibbs forced himself not to look at Jack's back, which was dried with crusty blood, yet still wet with new blood. His flesh wounds stood gaping at him, taunting him…

Those scars will be with him for the rest of his life…

"…not…dead…"

It was almost too soft for Gibbs to hear. "Wait…what? Of course you ain't dead," he responded soothingly, his eyes lingering on Jack's bleeding wounds. "You ain't gonna die, Jack."

Are you so sure?

"Not…me…them."

Dolan shot Gibbs a confused glance, but Gibbs paid no attention to him. Instead, he focused intently on Jack. For some strange reason, he figured that his incessant protests were not meaningless at all. "Who, Jack? Who be 'them'?"

Jack breathed deeply, but did not reply.

 "Who in bloody hell is he talking about?" Dolan asked gruffly, eyeing Jack's wounds with a mingled look of disgust and sympathy. "Is he jus' sayin' those things?"

"Nay, he ain't just sayin' 'em. He's smarter than that…he knows what he's saying."

Dolan made a sound of objection. "He's delusional! He's feverish, he's sick and infected – "

"Them." Jack had repeated himself, only mustering the strength to say one word. It cost the man a lot of energy to speak, and he was now breathing heavily once more. He was obviously trying to say something important. Gibbs shook his head in frustration: what was it that Jack was trying to tell them?

'Them' who?

"Bleedin' river…"

Dolan peered curiously at Gibbs. "What?"

Gibbs remained silent. It couldn't be…after all of that, anyone would be dead…Norrington had it before it caved in…they have to be dead…there's no explanation…

"What is it, damn it?" Dolan replied anxiously.

Gibbs looked at him. "Barbossa. Jack's saying he's not dead."

"You're jestin' with me."

"I ain't. It's the only explanation…"

"So, Barbossa's alive?" Dolan paused, laughed angrily, and threw up his hands. "Then what do we do now?"

"We wait," Gibbs retorted angrily, throwing back Dolan's words. He was busy enough trying to figure out how Barbossa could be alive, how to get out of the dangerous situation they were in, and how to keep Jack alive without this young ex-lucrative rum runner distracting him. He turned back to Jack and studied his wounds pensively. They were still openly bleeding…

Why weren't they closing? He'll bleed to death…

Damn it, Jack…

"Oh, we wait, aye? For what, reckon?" Dolan responded angrily, mimicking Gibbs's same statement only minutes before.

Gibbs looked up at him gravely, without a trace of mockery in his words. "For a miracle."

~*~

Let me know what you think? Thanks much, me mateys. I would really appreciate it if you all could review…even if it's short. 


	4. Revelations

**A/N: **This chapter is dedicated to Julie-Rae, just because I love her so much.

**A/N 2: **Did I mention I love you guys? I think I did. 143 reviews? Drinks all around!

**A/N 3: **Because ff.net is such a pain, it won't italicize anything for me. So, I still decided to post. Pretend names of ships and inner monologue should be italicized. Thanks much! 

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye 

_Revelations_

__________

An avalanche…how bloody brilliant, commodore, how bloody brilliant. Make those rocks to fall on us. Try to wipe us out. Oh, but in all respects, commodore, we ain't that easy to kill.

Yet his nonchalant sense of amusement quickly turned into frustration. The surrounding blackness made him feel worthless, hapless. He was silently drifting, not restricted in the least, aimlessly floating in a never-ending circle of nothingness. He knew what was coming, and he knew that it wouldn't be good. He had failed the gods, and they would not accept it lightly.

He needed Turner's blood…the last line of Turner's blood. Meaning William Turner Junior. The curse had it in for Bootstrap, for keeping the gold away for so long. The gods would only settle for his last remaining bloodline to suffer the consequences. Slit Turner's throat, undo the curse, kill everyone else, take Jack Sparrow, and everybody's eternally happy. 

Jack Sparrow…

He cursed to himself in the foreboding darkness. That bastard had taken a way everything he had worked so hard to attain. He would be satisfied seeing that good-for-nothing piece of slime rot in hell for all eternity.

But the curse had offered him something better.

No doubt, Jack Sparrow was a good pirate…probably one of the best. His blood boiling in his veins, Barbossa remembered how many times that man had outsmarted him. Well, no fool had ever called Jack dimwitted, if one thing be sure. For behind all of that drunken swaggering, hidden beneath his intriguing strangeness, was an intelligence that very few pirates could claim to own.

To punish Jack, to claim his meaningless life with his own hands, had been a fantasy of his for a while. He had spent many a quiet night contemplating the most humiliating death for Sparrow. Hanging was too swift. Drowning guaranteed nothing. Marooning apparently was not effective. How to wipe him off, then?

The Gods. The Gods could help him.

He smiled. The gods had an uncanny ability to affect whomever had come in contact with the gold. Considering Jack and Will had submitted their blood willingly to the chest of gold before, the gods had some control over them. 

But then why had Turner been able to reject the curse before he could take his blood?

Because we only have partial control. And because he's not the last of the bloodline.

The voice shocked him, but the familiarity of it calmed him a bit. The gods had talked to him before, in a collective tone of clarity that chilled him to the bone. Gathering his thoughts and letting the statement absorb into his drifting brain, he responded.

Not the last of the bloodline?

No.

How can that be? Turner has a sibling?

He will have a child.

A child… 

That wench Elizabeth was pregnant! He should have known it, should have noticed it. So that was why the curse couldn't hold Will under total control; he wasn't the last of the Turner bloodline. It is only the last of the Turners that the gods can claim for their own. 

What do I do? he asked with a trace of trepidation, awaiting the worst. A resonating pause filled the void around him for a few minutes before the reply came.

You will do nothing to Turner's wife or child. 

Nothing?

Absolutely nothing.

Then how will the curse be broken?

That is none of your concern.

It bloody well is! His frustration grew beyond his ability to control it, swelling within him like a growing tidal wave. I is still under the curse! And while I can't enjoy the bawdy lusts of life, it will remain under me concern until it is broken!

Your mission is another one.

Hearing the slight annoyance in the voice, he calmed himself. To be out of favor with the gods was a dangerous path to take. Aye, another mission. What be it?

There is another coin that must be retrieved.

Another? Barbossa racked his mind for that possibility until the answer dawned on him: Norrington had been holding the gold coin before he created the avalanche.

No, he wasn't. That was a decoy.

What?

He had taken a regular shilling from the rum-runner's sack of coins. It was to lure you away from the others.

Damn him to hell, Barbossa raged. Without the full set of coins, the curse could not be shattered. But how in the name of the high seas had another coin been taken?

The darkness grew somewhat lighter, and he quickly silenced himself, now fearful to endure the gods' wrath. The void swirled around him like a silent whirlpool, slowly sucking him downwards into the balmy depths of dimness. He tried to resist it, and he could feel the gods mocking him, laughing at him.

The coin belongs to another. It is your job to find him.

Who! he pleaded, struggling against the drowning sensation. Who! Tell me who has the coin!

The gods laughed at him again, taking their time with the answer. Panic started to rise up in his chest as it became harder to breathe…the nothingness flickered in front of his eyes, growing lighter, darker, lighter darker…he couldn't see…he couldn't feel…he could only hear the gods contemptuous chuckles, their merciless taunts…

Please! Tell me who!

The choking sensation prevented him from saying any more. He was sure the gods were going to kill him, to damn him to the innermost circle of hell, to leave him to suffer there for his inability to stop the curse. He pictured himself wallowing in misery, surrounded by nothing for all eternity. Hopelessness overtook his desperate spirit, his usual calm acceptance refusing to come. His life ended now, in defeat, in mock contempt of the gods, in complete dishonor…

He would never break the curse. He would never feel the breath of life tickle his soul. He would never see Jack Sparrow under his command, never see Turner break under his rule. He would never be able to kill Bootstrap, never be able to take revenge against Gibbs for taking Sparrow's side once more…

He would never do anything he had been dreaming so long to do…

Until, out of his slowly seeping consciousness, the gods spoke once more. A name, a beautiful name that would be his redemption, his last chance at life…a name that he would remember until his dying day.

Joshua Smithe. Joshua Smithe has the last token.

~*~

"Come on, come on, hop to it."

Actually, watching his pirate crew get dressed up in knickers and the like made Kidd want to laugh. He saw them stumbling all over the room, trying desperately to dress themselves, grumbling and swearing about the "damned rags" they had to don to disembark The Adventure Galley. 

"Blasted things. Don't give no room for my privates to breathe," grumbled McAdams, adjusting himself in his knickers.

"Since when do those privates of yourn need ter breathe?" retorted a voice from the back of the cabin. Raucous laughter filled the chamber, and Kidd couldn't help but chuckle himself as he buttoned his overcoat. He studied himself in the cracked mirror before him, eyeing his proper clothing, his clean hair, his presumptuous gaze. He looked like he had before he turned pirate, arrogant and filthy rich, caring about no one except for himself. 

Sighing slightly and turning away from the mirror, he studied his crew, who were beginning to look more and more like gentlemen. He tried to hold back a guffaw of delight as he studied their disgusted faces, but he failed. The crew eyed him viciously, muttering curses under their breath. How they hated to look like "respectable landlubbers"; they despised nothing more than the rich and pompous. 

"Alright men, are we ready to depart?"

"Aye, McAdams, are those privates still a-breathin'?" 

The crew laughed, and Kidd smiled. "Well, if his privates are still breathing, then I'd say we're all ready to disembark. Remember: do not go near the governor's house. It will probably be heavily guarded, so leave that to me. Wander the streets, pretend to be gentlemen, but don't get in trouble. If any of you decide to get mischievous and get thrown in the jail, I will leave you there. Understood?"

"Aye," came the collective answer.

"Marvelous. Proceed, then."

Out they filed, one by one, down the landing plank and on to the sandy shore. Kidd didn't dare port his ship at the docks; he had made an infamous name for himself, everyone knew that. His girl, the Galley, would be recognized by any average Joe lurking about Port Royal. Thus, they had decided to port their ship on the farther side of Port Royal, on a deserted beach, perhaps twenty meters from shore. They would be trudging through water knee-deep, and would then put on their "royal" shoes once they reached land.

"Shoes. Go on, then, put on your shoes," Kidd instructed as they now stood upon the white, sandy shore. He hid a smile beneath the growing darkness of the night as his men grumbled once more. "I know they're uncomfortable, but you can't very well go around barefoot in your nice attire now, can you?"

The men put on their shoes, and, after they had all successfully gotten them on, headed up towards the town of Port Royal. In the darkness, Kidd grew nervous, hoping that he would be able to find his way around the busy port city. He walked northwards, through winding streets, past the meat market, around the blacksmith shop, and left of the jail. He knew that his men had spread out and were no longer following him; a group of civilized-looking men who had randomly showed up in the middle of the night would be enough to make anyone question their whereabouts. Thus, as the town plunged into darkness, the only footsteps Kidd could now hear were his own. 

Squinting against the shadows, he noticed a large white house standing alone directly to his right. He eyed it warily, noting that there were two guards standing watch outside of the lofty, intricately crafted iron gates. He noticed there was only one candle lit in the entire household; a room stood illuminated eerily in the upper left of the house. The rest of the windows remained black and uninhabited. 

Clearing his throat and straightening his overcoat, Kidd headed towards the gates, trying his best not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. It had been years since he had to try and pass for a gentleman, and he was hoping that his tanned, rough skin did not give away his true occupation. He held his chin high and set his gaze upon the two armed guards, who seemed to be eyeing him curiously for some time.

"Excuse me, is this Governor Swann's household?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as dignified as possible.

"Yes, sir, this is his abode."

"Splendid. Please tell him that his nephew has arrived."

The guards looked at each other suspiciously. "We weren't informed of any visitors, sir."

"Is that so? Well, I'm surprised. Usually the governor is on top of things. Shall you perhaps call on him to verify my visit?"

The guard on the right smirked. "So you have spoken with Governor Swann recently, then, sir?"

"Ay-, yes, I have." Blast it, he thought, clenching his teeth. I almost said 'aye'.

Now, both of the guards were smirking. "That is very interesting sir," the man on the right continued, "considering the governor has been in England for a while, now."

Damn.

Kidd recovered himself and smiled. "Has he, now? That's very interesting. Perhaps my courtier had made a mistake. Could it have been my dear cousin Elizabeth sending me letters?"

The guards remained silent, until one of them cleared his throat and spoke. "I think it's best you should leave, sir."

Kidd pompous smile faltered, but did not entirely fade. "Good sirs, do you honestly think that I would come all this way to see my uncle had he not invited me?"

The guard did not answer. "I think it best you leave," he repeated.

Brilliant, Kidd, brilliant. Now what?

"I think – " 

"William?"

Kidd shut his mouth and adjusted his gaze to a slender figure now approaching the gates. He couldn't see her face, but he knew it could be no one else. "Elizabeth."

"William!" she stepped into the moonlight, and Kidd smiled. Well, she had grown into a lovely young lady, hadn't she? Looked exactly like her mother. But he noticed the usual delighted twinkle in her eyes was gone, and her face seemed to be in distress. Although she was smiling, he noticed dark circles under her eyes. He frowned inwardly.

"Gentlemen, please let him in."

The guards looked begrudgingly as they opened the iron gates for Kidd. He nodded his head as he walked through them, opening his arms wide. Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, but then flung herself at him, squeezing him tight. He had missed her company; they had been wonderful childhood friends. It was good to see her again, even if the circumstances weren't what they should have been.

"Please, come inside," she said, and Kidd allowed her to lead him forward, through the beautifully inlaid oak doors, and into the monstrous foyer. He could barely prevent his mouth from dropping slightly, noting the marble staircase and beautifully crafted chandelier hanging above his head. His eyes swept from the picture windows to the silk drapes, from the freshly polished floor to the expensively hanged wallpaper. 

"Estrella, please make some tea," Elizabeth said to his left, and he saw a maid curtsey and turn from the room, but not before eyeing him curiously. 

"Come sit in the waiting room, would you?" she offered, gesturing towards a magnificently upholstered room to his left. Kidd looked at her critically for a moment, before responding.

"You don't have to be so formal with me, Lis."

She blushed as she looked at the floor. "Was I?"

"Aye, you were."

Dammit.

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and they narrowed curiously. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

Elizabeth placed her hands on her hips. "That was hardly nothing, Mr. William Swann. That sounded like 'aye'."

Mr. William Swann. I haven't heard that name for years…

"Actually, it was."

Strangely, she laughed, her voice echoing against the marble floors. "Don't tell me you've turned pirate on me too, William."

Perhaps it was his dumbstruck face. It could have been the awkward silence that ensued after her words. Or, maybe it was his tanned skin, his rough hands, and his uncomfortable stature in his overly-fancy attire. Whatever it was, he saw Elizabeth's face drop immediately. She stared at him a few minutes, dumbfounded, seemingly unable to comprehend the fact that her once-gentlemanly cousin was now a pirate.

"You're a pirate," she said softly.

"Well, no, you see, I'm an illegitimate sailor," he tried to protest.

"You know very well that you're a pirate!" she shrieked. Kidd looked around uneasily, hoping there was no one in earshot. "How could you have turned pirate? I thought you were out hunting them, not becoming one of them!"

"Lest you forget, Lis, you're married to one," Kidd found himself retorting, trying to get her to calm down. Wrong tactic.

He saw her cheeks flush and her fists clench. "Who I am married to is of none of your concern, William. If you have come here to criticize my marriage you can best take yourself and leave." She gestured to the door.

"That is not why I came here," he said, looking at her hard. "Your husband is in trouble…Will, his name is? I've come here to help, Lis. I've missed you, and I've come here to help."

She saw tears form in her eyes, and felt immediately ashamed of his temper. He knew defiance ran in the Swann family, but he should have known that this was a delicate situation. "Oh, William."

He enveloped her in a hug, and she began to cry. He knew that the situation must be worse than he had predicted; anything to make Lis cry was a dire situation indeed. He held her, wishing that she would stop; he was sorely interested in hearing how she had managed to get herself mixed up with a pirate indeed. Her racking sobs eventually died down into soft whimpers, and he led her to a couch in the waiting room, helping her to sit down.

She thanked him, obviously embarrassed for her outburst. He smiled as he remembered how prideful his cousin was, and decided it would be best not to interrogate her too harshly.

"What…how did you turn…what was the word, illegitimate?" she asked, eyeing him jokingly as she wiped her cheeks.

Kidd laughed. "That's a long story, and a fairly boring one, actually."

"I haven't heard of infamous William Swann, terrorizing the seven seas. You must be a lousy pirate."

He paused, eyeing her gently before responding. "Aye, but have you heard of William Kidd?"

Elizabeth gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. "No…William Kidd?"

He nodded, smirking. "The one and only, love."

She laughed. "You remind me of someone."

"Who?"  
  


She snorted; an unladylike habit of hers that Kidd remembered from his childhood. "Doubt you've heard of him."

"Try me."

She rolled her eyes. "Jack Sparrow."

"Jack Sparrow?" His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You've heard of him?"

He wanted to tell her that he had spent the better part of his legitimate career hunting him, but decided that this wasn't the time for that. "I've heard him mentioned."

"Make sure you don't tell him that."

In the following silence, Estrella brought in tea with lemon, pouring both of them a cup and curtsying herself out of the room, glancing back to study him before closing the bifolding doors behind her. Elizabeth sipped her tea, but Kidd ignored his cup, instead focusing on his cousin's face. "In order for me to help you, Lis, I need to know what happened." 

She paused and set her teacup down. She looked out of the window into the starry night as if she were wondering where to begin. Abruptly, she asked, "Have you heard of The Black Pearl?"

Kidd's eyes widened in surprise. "Of course. What pirate hasn't? But how did you know of it?"

Elizabeth sighed, and turned towards him, her face serious. "I know more about it than you think."

~*~

"How is he?"

Ingrid urged him back onto the stretcher. " 'ell be fine, boy. Don' ye worry 'bout Sparrow."

"They whipped him?"

"Aye," he heard Dolan comment in the adjacent cell. "Whipped him like an animal."

"Ratherford?"

He heard Dolan give a grunt of consent.

Bastard…

"But how is he?"

" 'ell be fine, boy. Just mind yerself." Ingrid helped him to turn on his side, and began to pat his gaping wounds with a wet cloth. He cringed, but refused to utter any protest. Suddenly, his mind burst. "What about Elizabeth?" he blurted.

"She's back at her own house, reckon," Dolan responded. "She's fine. Ratherford wouldn't lay a finger on 'er…not on the governor's daughter."

True, Will thought. Very true. Yet somehow, that thought wasn't soothing enough.

As he listened to the soft trickle of water towards the far side of the jail, a rusty door was opened, and he heard voices walk down the stairs toward his cell. He heard his cell being opened and, as Ingrid gave protest, he felt himself being heaved up none too gently. He groaned, his back wounds opening wider as they grabbed him by his arms and tried to steady him. His knees gave way and his stance faltered, yet he felt himself being heaved up once more, with total regard to his ill condition. Will weakly raised his head to see Ratherford standing before him, his piercing gaze studying Will up and down.

"How does he fare?" he heard Ratherford ask to a stout, plump man with spectacles on. The man ordered Will to be turned around, and he soon felt the stout man poke at his wounds. Will let out a hissing noice, as to avoid screaming in pain. He could feel his stubby fingers harshly study his wounds, prodding and squeezing them. 

"He's fit enough to be interrogated, commodore," he heard the physician comment.

"Good. Take him to The Hole."

Will was dragged from the jail, and he could hear Ingrid, Dolan, and Gibbs protest. He tried to support himself on his own legs, but was too weak to. Thus, he let the soldiers drag him, his arms swung over their shoulders, his back exposed to the elements. It burned as if it were on fire, but he refused to let Ratherford see him in pain. Thus, he let his head hang limply until he found himself being placed in an uncomfortable, wooden chair. A door closed behind him, and Will lifted his head up to study his surroundings.

He was in a small room, perhaps eight feet by ten feet. All that was in there was two wooden chairs, facing each other across a small, wooden table with one candle burning on it. There were no windows. The only other man in there with Will was Ratherford.

"Now, Mr. Turner, we will begin the interrogation process."

Will did not answer, but his heart began to pound in his chest.

"Why did you kill the commodore?"

He looked up and stared straight into those cold, blue eyes. "I didn't kill him."

Ratherford's fist went flying into Will's jaw, and he reeled from the blow, nearly falling entirely off of his chair. He felt warm blood rush into his mouth as he struggled to right himself. Ratherford sneered.

"Let us try that again, Mr. Turner. Why did you kill Commodore Norrington?"

"I didn't."

A punch to his temple made Will gasp in pain. His vision became blurred as his head throbbed harshly. He could feel blood trickle down his temple, and knew that it was the commodore's gold ring that had punctured the skin.

"Why did you kill Commodore Norrington?"

"I didn't."

A punch to the back sent Will's nerves into a frenzy. He gasped for air, but felt his lungs collapse out of pure pain. He toppled off of the chair and groaned, kneeling on the floor, his back to Ratherford. His head spun, his jaw ached, and his back began to ooze with pus and blood once more. A cold, night wind rustled in and teased him, sending shivers up his unclothed torso. He breathed heavily and wondered why his throat refused to admit air.

He heard Ratherford's polished, new leather boots track themselves across the floor until they rested directly below Will's face. "Why did you kill him?"

Will didn't have the strength to answer.

His silence warranted his face a kick from the commodore, and Will went flying backwards, smacking the back of his head on the chair as he smashed onto the ground, face up. He screamed, the pain now unbearable. Every inch of his body pleaded for mercy, but Will knew he would get none. He tried to breathe, but freshly produced blood flowed down his throat, and he gurgled, spitting it away. He heard Ratherford laugh ruefully.

Then, he heard a gun being cocked.

Will opened his eyes and stared into the barrel of a rifle, being held directly over his forehead by the commodore. He wore a disgustedly happy smile upon his face, and Will felt a hatred like he had never known rise up in his belly.

"Now, one last time, Mr. Turner," he said patiently as Will stared into the barrel of the gun. "Why did you kill Commodore Norrington?"

~*~

See you next chapter. 


	5. Motherhood, Misery, and Mystery

**A/N: **Yes, I know, I should be sent to the gallows for not updating. I've been so busy though…college acceptances are forcing me to go and visit each one. Which means I have to spend my weekends hearing some teeny-bopper explain to me why I should waste thousands upon thousands of dollars at her school. **Snort** Sorry if I sound bitter…I just miss writing! Please review this chapter…I hope you enjoy it.

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye 

_Motherhood, Misery, and Mystery_

________

He tried to comprehend what his cousin told him, but he found it hard to stop gaping. He stared at her for so long in complete silence that his eyes began to water. He blinked, realizing how he must look, and cleared his throat. She said nothing. 

He followed her gaze downward to stare at the intricately woven Persian rug beneath them. Pretending to study its ornate design, Kidd was actually trying to figure out what, in the name of God, to say. He had no idea that Elizabeth had been through so much. And now her husband was accused of murdering Commodore Norrington. This wasn't a feather-light matter.

He cleared his throat once more and raised his eyes to focus on her. "I had no idea…"

Elizabeth nodded but remained silent. Her eyes were still upon the Persian rug. 

"Er…" Kidd stumbled over the words that were meant to be comforting. He was never very good at soothing conversations – he was a pirate, for God's sake.

"I just don't know what to do." Her voice was soft yet controlled, and only contained a wisp of regret. 

Kidd rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out a plan of action. Jailbreak? No; if Turner is being accused of murder, then he would be heavily guarded. Yet his men could create a distraction…a riot of sorts. If they could remove all of the guards from the jail, leaving only a few…

Well, Kidd could take care of that.

He nodded his head. Jailbreak en route of a distraction it would be.

"Ok, Lis, I think I've got – " Kidd broke off when he saw Elizabeth's face. She was crying silent tears.

_Dammit, _Kidd thought, biting his lower lip. _I hate it when women cry…_

"Oh, Lis." He reached for her and she fell into his arms. She continued to cry noiselessly, but he could feel her ragged breaths against his chest. Shaking his head and cursing the day when Elizabeth fell in love with a blacksmith, he whispered, "I'll get him out, Lis, I promise. I'll get him out."

He felt Elizabeth nod as she pulled away from him, furiously wiping her eyes. "I've never cried so much in my life."

Kidd grinned. "There's a first time for everything."

Elizabeth snorted. He loved it when she did that – being prim and proper was not Lis's cup of tea.

Feeling the mood lighten ever so slightly, Kidd clapped his hands together and looked around the room. "I think I've got an idea."

"And I think I have to tell you something."

"By all means."

She looked down at her hands that were folded in her lap. She seemed apprehensive, bouncing her knee and sniffling awkwardly. She avoided his gaze by either focusing on her hands or staring directly past him. She bit her lower lip. It wasn't a good sign. 

Kidd narrowed his eyes. _Undead pirates. Jack Sparrow. _The Black Pearl. _Heathen gods who were bloodthirsty, waiting for revenge to quench their thirst. What _else _is there to tell me?_

"I left out a few details…"

Kidd waited patiently, studying her intently. She was still avoiding his gaze.

"Um…well…see, I'm, ah…" She began to fidget again, but Kidd still kept himself composed. She would tell him when she was ready.

"You see…Will and I…we're, um…see, the curse didn't break because…ah, Will's not the last of the Turner bloodline." She continued to stare at her hands.

Kidd looked at her intently, but nodded slowly in semi-comprehension. "Then he has a sibling?"

She shook her head, a little too quickly for Kidd's taste. _Why else wouldn't the curse break? If it needed the last of the Turner bloodline…_

Then it struck him.

"Oh my God." It was all he could say.

He saw color rise in her cheeks, and she smiled shyly, glancing around the room. He felt his mouth drop open once more.

"You're WITH CHILD?!"

"Shhh! For goodness sake, William, keep your voice down!" she said harshly, her eyes darting towards the door. "There's no need for all of Port Royal to know."

"But you're pregnant."

"Yes, I am."

"With child as in…having a baby?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "No. With child as in having tea. _Yes_…with child as in having a baby."

"But…you can't be pregnant." He knew he sounded stupid. But his mind could not let him grasp the fact that his baby cousin was pregnant. She just couldn't be.

"Why not?" Elizabeth's tone was not as annoyed anymore. She seemed almost amused.

"Because…well, I mean, to have a baby, you have to…um…" Kidd rubbed the back of his neck with his hands. He couldn't say the word.

Elizabeth laughed, genuinely smiling now. "Well, I'm glad the infamous William Kidd knows the requirements of creating a child."

"But…you're my baby cousin…" he said, still shaking his head. _This is bloody insane…_

"Not so much a baby anymore," she said, her eyes sparkling.

He eyed her cautiously. "You're pregnant?" he asked again. Perhaps he hadn't heard right.

"Do I need to write it down for you?"

Kidd's incredulity disappeared and he grinned. "No…I think I've got it, thanks. Have you told your father?"

Elizabeth's smile faded. "Not yet."

Kidd laughed out loud. "I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out his nephew is a pirate and his daughter is pregnant because of one."

~*~

It was a miracle that he was alive. Everybody said so. They reminded him so many times, in fact, that Jack had the innate urge to punch every single one of them.

"I can't believe ye made it," Gibbs muttered again, shaking his head. "We was sure you were a goner."

Jack stared at him for a moment before grinning. "You forgot one thing, mate."

"What? That you're Jack Sparrow?"

"No. That I'm _Captain _Jack Sparrow."

Gibbs grinned. "Good to have ye back to yer ol' self, Jack."

"Aye," nodded Dolan.

"Yes, well, lucky I didn't die, considering you bloody good-for-nothings haven't figured out a way to get out of here, have you?" Jack commented, studying his surroundings. He saw Anamaria, still unconscious, being tended to by Ingrid. He forced his eyes to look away before the anger rose too profoundly in his chest. He saw the crew of _The Victoria Anne_ smiling at him from an adjacent cell, saw Gibbs and Dolan and Bootstrap. But…

"Where's our father-to-be?" he asked Bootstrap, smiling slyly.

Bill's jaw tightened as he looked away. He didn't answer.  
  


Jack narrowed his eyes as he studied Bill, whose once regal stature had diminished to a slightly hunched, weary, slight frame of a man. He turned his eyes on Dolan who stared down at his boots, and to Gibbs who took a swig from his flask, all of them obviously avoiding his gaze. "Bloody hell, what does it take to get an answer around here?"

"Ratherford took him away," Dolan commented, still staring at his boots. "For questioning, reckon."

"Bastard," he heard Bootstrap mutter vehemently.

"How long ago?" Jack asked, his eyes still on Bootstrap. He could feel his mind becoming numb.

"About two days ago," Gibbs commented, taking another swig.

Jack's heart sank. "And you've heard nothing?"

"Nothin'. Just the howlin' of the wind."

Jack's eyes squinted as he tried to think of what to do next. But the grim reality of the situation began to sit in, and, for the first time in Jack Sparrow's life, he felt completely vulnerable. Incapacitated, still extremely sore, and without a clue as how to remedy the position they were all in, he quietly chastised himself for letting the turn of events take a hold of him. He liked to believe he was in charge of his own destiny, making all of his own choices, his own decisions, free of anything to tie him down.

But now, it looks like his decisions were being made for him. With no outlet, with no means of escape, with injured, exhausted, and weary comrades, Jack knew that their outlook was dismal. There was nothing he could do about it.

At least, for the moment.

A shaft of light appeared, and Jack winced – it had been dark and dreary in the jail. But the opening of the door caused a fair amount of shuffling from the prisoners as they all craned their necks to see who was entering. Gibbs told Jack that no one had come in or gone out since Ratherford had taken Will away; he wasn't sure if that was necessarily a good thing.

His eyes adjusting to the brightness, Jack saw a tall man enter, accompanied by two armed guards. It didn't take a scholar to know that by the man's self-important stance, his esteemed posture and his well-bred gestures, this man was Ratherford.

Jack grimaced inwardly, but his face remained emotionless to the eye. More than likely, the commodore was coming to interrogate him, the same way he interrogated Will. He inhaled deeply, calming his quickening heart, quieting his churning stomach, and preparing himself for both physical and mental torture inflicted on him by a man whom he would give his right hand to kill.

Ratherford's hawkish glare held a sickening gleam to it, and Jack felt his heart catch in his throat. It was something about the triumphant expression on his face that made Jack's mind scream. __

_Will!_

The commodore cleared his throat as he folded his hands behind his back. He surveyed all of them, taking his time, enjoying the sight of their angst-filled faces, their hating glares. It was only when Jack felt his chest was about to burst with anxiety that he spoke.

"William Turner admitted his guilt in Commodore Norrington's murder."

Jack's heart sank for the second time, although he was grateful Will had made the right choice. Knowing how hard-headed that whelp could be, Jack thanked the lucky stars that Will hadn't done anything stupid _this_ time around. 

There was silence that followed the commodore's words, and a sick, sadistic smile spread across his twisted face. "Under normal circumstances, he would be hung by the morrow morning."

"And why aren't these circumstances normal, reckon?" Dolan growled, glaring at Ratherford.

The commodore chuckled, and fixed his icy glare upon Bootstrap. Jack felt his spine tingle. Something was wrong…Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. He silently prayed that what he was thinking would not be the case. But he lost all hope when Ratherford spoke the words he had been dreading.

"Because, my good pirate, William Turner is dead."

~*~

Joshua Smithe sat in the local tavern, wishing that Kidd would hurry the bloody hell up. He couldn't stand being in his overcoat and knickers; they jabbed into his well-defined stomach and made it hard to breathe in the already tobacco-filled and sweaty bar. To avoid grimacing, he took another long gulp of his rum, placing it down upon the dirt-filled, cracked table with a loud thud. He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve but stopped himself: that was no way for a gentleman to act.

_Damn gentleman…ain't even capable of dressin' comfortably._

Taking his lucky coin out of his pocket, he placed it on the table and stared at it intently. Something about the coin had always made him relax, his body calm and his mind clear. The skull on the gold coin stared back at him unseeing, and Smithe smiled. _Must be a pirate's coin, _he thought. He could never figure out the meaning of it, but often found himself looking at it, admiring the craftsmanship of it. Molding gold like that wasn't easy.

He slipped it back in his left jacket pocket as he raised his mug to his lips again when he felt a hand reach over his shoulder and plant itself on his chest.

Surprised, he turned around to look at an exotic-looking woman. Dark skinned but with a beautiful complexion, she looked at him slyly, as if she knew something he didn't. He noticed her milky skin that looked silk-soft to the touch, her long, black hair flowing freely down her shoulders, her rich figure enticing to any man who dared give her a second glance. Her arm still rested on his chest and she bent down towards his ear, whispering, "Why are you alone tonight, sir?"

Smithe grinned and looked over his shoulder at her. They were so close he could see the faint tint of hazel in her eyes. "Just enjoyin' a drink by meself."

"Ah, a loner, aye?" she responded. She winked at him and said, "Would ye like some company?"

Smithe felt the longing inside him, but refused to give in to it. He was in a strange port, filled with ever-watchful eyes; he didn't want to get mixed up with the wrong people, regardless of how many beautiful women offered him company. He had always been cautious in unfamiliar circumstances, but as he looked up into her eyes, he felt the longing reach him again. She was so beautiful, so exotic looking, that he was almost unable to say no.

Almost.

"Aye, I would, but not tonight, lassie." He offered her a devilish wink.

She laughed, her eyes mysteriously sparkling. "Suit yerself, sir." She turned to walk away, seductively pouting her cherry lips and brushing her hair aside. A secretive look remained in her eyes as she turned to leave.

"Wait!" he heard himself calling out, standing up and pushing aside the chair, focusing on nothing but the beautiful woman in front of him. "What be yer name, lady?"

She laughed heartily, and Smithe smiled, although he couldn't see what was so amusing. He watched, as if in a trance, as she walked back towards him, her hips swinging, her extremely low-cut blue dress swirling around her lovely figure. She approached him smiling, and stopped when her face was only inches from his. Tilting her head she kissed him softly on the lips, and Smithe felt his chest tingle with desire.

"What be yer name?" he whispered again, losing himself in her striking eyes.

She smiled even wider. "Anamaria. My name is Anamaria."

~*~

Thanks for the reviews. I love you all.


	6. Inner Demons and Sunlight

**Disclaimer: **Disney owns everyone and everything except for my original characters. They even own Jack Sparrow. Yes, I know. How depressing.

**A/N: **Okay, so all of you are confused (again). One of my reviewers actually came quite close to guessing how Anamaria was in two places at once…but, of course, I'm not going to tell you who. I know most of my reviewers enjoy Jack's POV, so I have decided to utilize his sexy mind in this chapter. Of course, not all of it is from his perspective, but as much as possible is. Please enjoy…and review if you're so inclined!

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye 

_Inner Demons and Sunlight_

________

Dread encompassed his heart as he leaned against the cell bars, staring off into the distance at an unknown object, barely hearing the stunned silence, hardly daring to look at Bootstrap, not caring that Gibbs was trying to talk to him. An isolated ringing, faint but clear, filled his ears as he slackened his face ever so slightly. What the hell was wrong with him?

_It's your inner demons, mate. They're coming back._

His inner demons…

Jack flinched ever so slightly. What he had dreaded for so long was now coming back to haunt him. That empty feeling he had banished from himself when he had reached Port Royal those many years ago was now returning twice as strong and three times as adamant to control him. The utter hopelessness he had felt as he watched _The Black Pearl _sail away the first time he was left on that godforsaken island had collapsed his mind and eaten away at his sprit. He had been without a crew, without his beloved ship, marooned, thirsty, and alone.

Then came the rum.

Rum dulled the pain like nothing else. It gave him an excuse to act flippant, almost uncaring to the point of nirvana. Not having to care about anything – or anyone – had given Jack the chance to regain his emotional stability, take back his ship, form a new crew, and go gallivanting about the Caribbean seas once more. 

But now…now the pain was back. With pain brought demons. The inner demons he couldn't stand. Those questioning, threatening, taunting little devils that penetrated the depths of his mind with an acuteness that drove him mad. They accompanied the pain and brought about even more agonizing thoughts that made you question your very existence, search your very soul for an answer that you knew you could never, and would never, attain.

And the demons were back.

Because Will was dead.

Jack silently cursed himself for letting his guard down. He had promised himself, during that long, hapless day on that island, that he would not let himself get attached to anyone ever again. Compassion was what brought a man down. Drunkenness, on the other hand, was what made a man forget. It made a man feel important, on top of the world, by helping him to forget all of the misery that surrounded him every day. That's what the rum had done for Jack. It had been his life support for ten years. He depended on it as much as his lungs depended on air to fill them. The rum had become his only trusted companion, and he had planned to keep it that way.

But then Will Turner had walked into his life, the son of a man he had cared for a great deal. Will had struck a discordant note within him. The boy had somehow shown Jack that perhaps there was more to life than rum, piracy, and plunder. Will had replaced the rum as his only trusted companion.

But now, Will was dead.

Another companion who had let him down.

The only friend left, of course, was rum. But Jack was smart enough to know that nothing could save him now. Nothing, not even the strongest Caribbean rum, could save him from himself. 

Perhaps it was the knowledge that he was alone in this world, void of all friendships and caring, that made him clench his jaw. Or maybe it was the knowledge that the boy who he had sworn to protect was now dead. It could have even been his own physical pain, still recovering from Ratherford's vicious beating. Whatever it was, it scared Jack to death.

_I'm still here, Jack. You can't get rid of me._

That voice was not of the inner demons. That voice was of the curse. It was back…and talking to him.

The curse wasn't broken…

_Then why am I bleeding? _Jack thought vehemently, all too aware of the blood that had poured from his body due to the likes of Ratherford.

Maybe us gods are able to manipulate the curse. What do you think, Jack Sparrow? 

_I think you're full of bloody rubbish._

_Do you?_

Jack winced ever so slightly, but tried to clear his mind, to push all thoughts of doubt from his brain…

But the curse laughed. _I'm inside your head, Jack. You can't be rid of me now._

Jack knew that if the curse couldn't kill him, it would drive him insane of his own accord. Before, he had been able to block out the snide voice, but now that he was suffering once more, it was hopeless. He simply had not the strength of body or mind to repel the pointed remarks and the cutting taunts.

He wanted to. He would have given all of the gold in the world to be strong again, to have faith, to be the witty, comical Captain Jack Sparrow. But, deep down in the recesses of his mind, he knew he couldn't. At least, not yet.

"She ain't doin' as nicely as I would've hoped fer," he heard Ingrid whisper as if she were sitting next to him.

He turned to see Ingrid patting Anamaria's face with a damp cloth, meticulously checking her breathing and her skin texture, mumbling to herself and shaking her head slightly. Jack's heart dropped even lower as he glanced at Anamaria's face. Her skin was extremely pale and fragile looking, her breathing shallow and forced. She looked like a corpse, and Jack clenched his jaw even tighter to prevent himself from crying out in rage.

Jack swore inwardly. Another person whom he cared about was going to leave him. Another companion to let him down, leaving him marooned in the own loneliness of his mind. A woman who he cared about – probably more than he would ever let on – was on her way to share the same fate as Will. 

Everyone was dying around him. And he sat there, in that cold dank cell, absolutely helpless.

It was like watching _The Pearl _sail away from him once more. It was like hearing the fate of Bootstrap all over again. It was like being mutinied against. It was that undeniable pressure that crept up his stomach and into his chest. His resolve to control his own destiny, to take matters into his own hands, was slowly slipping away from his grasp like low tide on a windless day.

Suddenly weary, Jack closed his eyes and shook his head ever so slightly. Whatever would happen would happen. If Anamaria died, so be it. If he died, so be it. If they all died, so be it. At least he would be free of this anguish that was unbearable to live through.

_If life be this painful, _Jack silently pleaded,_ then let me leave it behind._

~*~

"So…that's your plan?"

"Aye."

Elizabeth cocked an eyebrow at her cousin questioningly. His face suddenly became exasperated and he threw up his hands in the air. "Lis, what do you want me to do, eh? A jailbreak is a perfectly good idea, mind you."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. It's worked before with my men…there's no reason to assume that it wouldn't work now."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. They're trustworthy men, Lis. I would trust each of them with my life."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "They're pirates, William, and you trust them?"

Kidd stared hard at her a minute before answering slowly. "From what I hear, it was a pirate who saved your life from Barbossa. And, dear cousin, you also happened to be married to one. It seems to me that you trust pirates with more than you let on about."

Elizabeth bit her lower lip, and had to admit to herself that he had a point. She didn't know why she was being so skeptical of his crew, or why she was so hesitant to break the crew of the _Victoria Anne _free. She had a slight suspicion that it was because she dreaded to see what Will would look like after a possible interrogation from Ratherford.

She finally nodded. "Fine. It's as good a plan as any."

Kidd smiled. "I knew you'd be in for an adventure, Lis."

She shook her head, a smirk growing on her delicate face. "William, I've had enough adventures to last me a lifetime."

___

"She's a looker, ain't she, Smithe?"

Smithe nodded as he looked at the captain's cousin, a dainty-looking woman who seemed to be the type of lass who had the capability of beating the bloody hell out of an unsuspecting suitor. Her eyes were set upon Kidd who looked to be in high spirits after all. They had all been called back by Kidd and were now sitting in the mess hall of the _Adventure Galley_, waiting to hear what orders he had for all of them. Smithe smirked as the lass's eyes met his for a moment. Then, regaining his composure and feeling the odd necessity to be cordial, he nodded his head ever so slightly. To his surprise, she offered him a thin smile and returned the nod.

"Alright men," Kidd began, and all of the conversation between the crew had stopped. "You will be delighted to hear, I'm sure, that we will be participating in a jailbreak."

Laughter and cheers resounded in the mess room, and fellow crewmembers slapped each other on the backs and grinned. Captain William Kidd's crew never missed an opportunity to cause a problem with the local authority. Smithe even found himself smiling, anxious to be in on the mischief and eager to prove himself to his fellow crew.

"Who is we breakin' free, cap'n?" came a voice from the back of the room.

"We are freeing Elizabeth's husband, if you must know."

"He be a pirate?" came a deep, gruff inquiry to the left.

"Aye, he be a pirate."

Incredulous whispers struck up all around Smithe.

"Her, married to a pirate?"

"The lass is married to one 'o us?"

He studied Elizabeth who glanced uneasily around, but, nevertheless, held her head high.

"That be it, then, cap'n?" Smithe called out, trying to regain the attention of the lass. "Jus' one unlucky swabber from 'er this time?"

All eyes turned to Kidd who smiled gently, but shook his head. "No…there will be many. Among them will be Jack Sparrow."

Conversation immediately sprung up again. Everyone knew about Sparrow and _The Black Pearl_ – it was sure to go down in legend as one of the most infamous pirate tales of the day and age. He was revered by many and hated by others. Most, however, felt a combination of both towards the well-known captain of the Dark Ship.

"Yes, yes, quiet down, quiet down," Kidd spoke over the din. Smithe turned his eyes back to Elizabeth, who now was studying the floor. "As you know, Port Royal's holding cells are heavily guarded. So, we will need some of you to create a minor…distraction."

Several of the men snickered. Kidd noticed.

"And no, I don't mean the kind of distraction you caused at Tortuga, O'Reilly," he said wryly, and the whole crew burst out laughing. Smithe knew Kidd wouldn't explain – it was too graphic for the likes of the young lass to his right. He could have sworn, however, that he saw a small smile forming on her dainty lips.

"This distraction will be a set brawl between you. But, if you end up getting killed because you are being too rough, then that's your bad luck, and may Jesus have mercy on your damned soul." The crew laughed, and Kidd continued. "The only requirement is to meet us back here by first light…which should be in about an hour and a half from now. Any questions?"

"Aye," Smithe said, and all eyes turned to him, even Elizabeth's. "Who will be watching after the young lass, then, cap'n?"

Kidd considered this for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly and the corners of his mouth twitched. "Why, Smithe, perhaps we shall leave you aboard to tend to the needs of Miss Elizabeth."

~*~

"A brawl?" Ratherford barked at his first lieutenant, a short, porky boy who looked as though he were to cry any moment. "You awoke me at this time of night to report _a brawl_?"

"Y-yes, sir. It's rather bad, sir, and-"

"_Unbelievable_. With all of the soldiers in Port Royal, you were unable to secure a brawl of drunken sailors?"

"Well, sir, see-"

"You're being court marshaled, Jacoby. You will report to me at noon tomorrow to receive your punishments, is that understood?"

The boy bowed his head, but nodded slowly.

"I didn't hear you address me, Jacoby."

"Yes, sir."  

Ratherford nodded. "Good. Now get out of my sight."

The fat boy retreated from Ratherford's office, and the commodore gave a sniff of disgust. He dressed himself quickly, put on his hat, adjusted his sword at his side, stuck a pistol in its holder at his other side, and strode out of his office, his cold stare fixated on the southernmost part of town.

The three soldiers accompanying him were alert – if not a little jumpy – as they headed toward the more seedy part of Port Royal. Ratherford kept his head high as prostitutes whistled to him from the gutters of the streets. He refused to look as uneasy as he felt, and he unconsciously placed his hand upon the hilt of his sword. 

The further they traipsed toward the upheaval, the more uncomfortable Ratherford became. This part of town he had never been to before, and, to his dismay, it reminded him of Tortuga. It reminded him of the days he had been abandoned by his whore of a mother, set out on his own at a young age, forced to steal his way through life. His nostrils flared as his hatred for such immoral people rose up in his stomach like a flame. He was revolted by the mere thought of his former life.

"To the left, sir. It's over that way," said one of the guards flanking him. He nodded curtly and turned left. The shouts, swears, and scuffle of a brawl in place resonated in the narrow alleyway. In the darkness of the night he couldn't see properly, but he could tell from the loudness of the sounds that they were approaching fast. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the blackness, Ratherford saw, a few yards ahead of him, perhaps fifteen men, all bloody, beaten, dirty, and screaming in rage. The sight of it nearly made him vomit.

Just like Tortuga… 

Ratherford instructed the guards to raise their rifles in the air and fire. As soon as the ear-deafening crack of three rifles ripped through the air, the brawl began to die down.

The commodore needed no preamble. "As commodore of the town of Port Royal, I command you all to disperse and go your separate ways." His voice was clear and crisp, his hawkish stare unwavering.

"An' wha' if we don' like to _disperse,_" came a mocking voice.

Ratherford wished he knew who said that. "Then I will instruct my men to throw you all in the jail, to be hung for the endangerment of civilian lives first thing in the morning."

A few snickers ran through the crowd, followed by acute laughter. Ratherford felt his insides begin to boil. "If you don't believe me, then why don't you test my patience?"

There was an uneasy silence among the men. Ratherford noticed them sharing steely looks at one another out of the corners of their eyes. The commodore narrowed his eyes: these men seemed to know each other. He remained silent, however, and so did the crowd. In the deafening noiselessness, a group of thirty soldiers appeared on the other end of the group of men, their rifles drawn, ready to fire.

_Good man, _thought Ratherford, referring to the colonel who he had put in charge. _Good job, Stanley._

"You men have a choice," Ratherford began again, his growing distaste for the men appearing on his sharp features. "You can go to jail, or you can disperse. You have less than ten seconds to decide your course of action."

Silence again. Ratherford held his patience in check as the light of the new day began to show itself in the east. He saw a few men look up at the sky, and then turn their gaze back upon him, grinning.

"Aye, sir," came a calm voice. "We'll disperse to your pleasure."

___

_That was all too easy, _Ratherford thought on his walk back to his quarters. He had suspected the need for his soldiers to fire into the crowd at least once, expecting this brawl to turn into a riot, especially in that part of town. He frowned lightly, wondering if he was just being too suspicious for his own good.

Stifling a yawn, he stepped into his office and sat down behind his desk. Tiredness nipped at his drooping eyes, but he refused to sleep. Dawn had arrived, and he refused to let himself succumb to the inviting idea of sleep. Instead, Ratherford looked forward to interrogating Jack Sparrow today, the same way he had interrogated Will Turner.

Except he would have more fun with Sparrow than he did with Turner.

Sparrow represented everything Ratherford hated. It would be symbolic to beat down the very type of vermin that had caused him so much anguish as a young boy. It would improve his reputation for handling the likes of a pirate, and he looked forward to being one of the most feared commodores in all of the Caribbean. He would not tolerate his reputation to be tarnished. No…not after he had come so far.

A knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts as his newly appointed Colonel Stanley stepped in to his office. One look at his wide eyes, sweaty face, and ragged breathing, and Ratherford knew something was wrong. He slowly rose from his chair and stared hard into the colonel's eyes. "What's wrong, Colonel Stanley?"

"Sir," the man panted, trying to regain his composure. "Sir…Sparrow and crew are gone."

~*~

"Bloody hell, will you _move_?" the man commented exasperatedly, urging him on with a shove. "We don't have all the time in the world, you know?"

The captain turned to look at the well-featured man who had broken them out of jail, and said exasperatedly, "If you would like to carry her, be my guest. But until that time in our lives has arrived, leave the pace I carry to me, savvy?"

The man nodded, smiling. "Agreed."

"Glad you do." He adjusted Anamaria in his arms as they hurried down the back corridor towards the ship. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, and Jack knew that the civilians of Port Royal would soon be out and about. But running with a woman in your grasp wasn't as easy as it seemed.

Jack turned left to head toward the docks, but the man grabbed him by the arm. "No…this way," he muttered and dragged him right.

"What in bloody hell are you doing?" he commented, looking around. "The docks are left."

"Aye. But we're not going to the docks."

"Not going to the docks?" Jack asked, struggling to keep up with the man's pace. "Are we going to swim away from here, then?"

The man laughed good-naturedly. "I would've thought you figured this one out, Captain Sparrow. Do you really expect me to anchor my ship at the docks, when that very ship is being used as an escape route for condemned pirates? A little obvious, I would've thought."

Jack nodded approvingly, but said nothing. He was impressed that this man knew what he was doing, and he scolded himself for not realizing it first. But he was even more impressed that the man had just called him Captain Sparrow.

He decided he liked him.

Following the group in front of him and being urged on by the man, they turned another corner and out of the immediate city. They were now running through thick tropical underbrush that lay a few yards from the beach. Jack's arms began to ache and his breathing became ragged, but his heart lifted when he heard Anamaria groan when he adjusted her in his arms. Coherency was a good thing.

"Come on, come on!" the man urged, and he was shoved out of the underbrush onto the hot sand of the beach. The sunlight stung his eyes and he blindly ran forward toward the open sea, ignoring the ever-growing pain. He had not fully recuperated from Ratherford's punishments, and carrying Anamaria had not helped his situation.

But he wouldn't let anyone else carry her.

A cool, soothing feeling swept over his booted feet, and, as he looked down, he realized they had come to the water's edge. He waded in deeper, ignoring the searing pain from his still open cuts, but nevertheless still holding Anamaria, blinded by the light of the sun. 

"I can't carry her by me onsie…" Jack grunted to the man next to him.

At that moment, he felt hands reach down at take Anamaria from him. An unexplainable panic rose in his chest until he forced his eyes open and noticed that rowboats had come out to meet them; one of the men on the boats had taken Anamaria and placed her gently in the boat. In the distance, he spotted a beautifully made ship and nodded.

The man in the rowboat smiled and reached his hand down. "Alright, Sparrow, your turn."

He hoisted himself up and was flung on his back in the boat. Jack winced as sharp pain from his whipping overcame him, but he clenched his jaw and ignored it, instead looking into the face of a man next to him.

"You knew my name…have I threatened you before?"

"Nay, but I know you."  
  


"Apparently," Jack commented, rubbing his eyes. There were wounds of his that hadn't properly closed yet, and the invasion of the salt water had left him wincing in pain. But, of course, he would never let on to his discomfort.

"May I inquire as to where we are headed?" Jack asked to the boatsman.

"To wherever our cap'n says, mate."

"And who is your captain?"

The boatsman pointed to where the good-natured man who had been urging him on sat, being rowed toward the ship. "That be our cap'n…Cap'n William Kidd."

Jack coughed to prevent himself from yelling. _That _was William Kidd? Jack frowned. Kidd's reputation preceded him, that was for certain. He would've thought such a ruthless pirate would look more…ruthless. And tan. And drunk.

"And what be the ship's name?"

The boatsman smiled. "That be the _Adventure Galley."_

~*~

It looked almost as if she had expected it.

Jack sat opposite Elizabeth and Kidd, his face sympathetic. The jovial sunlight that poured through the mess hall infuriated Jack to the point where he had to turn his back on the sun completely, adamantly avoiding Elizabeth's solemn gaze. She had been looking at him for a while now, and Jack felt himself shift uncomfortably ever minute or two. Still sopping wet, he shivered, clutching the blanket provided by Kidd tighter around him. 

He couldn't bring himself to comfort her. In fact, he barely heard the soothing words Kidd was whispering to her. He saw her nod every once in a while, but other than that, she remained unresponsive, gazing intently at Jack as if he had an answer that no one else did.

"He could be lying," Jack heard her mutter. She kept her stare on him, and Jack felt himself nod slowly.

"Lis…"

"He could be lying," she said, adamantly this time. "Ratherford would be the type of man to do such a thing."

He heard Kidd sigh. Jack looked up and found himself locked in Elizabeth's gaze, her eyes filling with unshed tears for the husband who had left her with child and mourning. His heart grieved for her, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. For some reason unknown to him, he felt as if he owed her, as if he were in mortal debt to her. He felt obligated to see her through this, to take care of her, to comfort her and be with her until she could carry on.

But this didn't fit Jack Sparrow's persona. And it left him vulnerable.

He had just sunk into the pit of gloom upon Will's death, and was now close to opening his heart to another. But what would become of her? She could die in childbirth. She could die of despair. She could abandon him as his former crew of _The Pearl_ had, leaving him on an emotional spit of land with only a bottle of rum as his comfort.

_She'll abandon you, Jack. She'll leave you like everyone else has._

He tore his eyes away from her, instead focusing them on his lap. His mind raced, and he suddenly felt a nauseating sense of insecurity. He stood up slowly, wrapping the blanket around his wet body tighter. His entire being ached; his skin, his muscles, his sinews down to the very bone. He was exhausted and frail, and yearned for a drunken sleep: a sleep without knowing or dreaming. A sleep that would rid himself of the pain.

_You deserve the pain, Jack. You let yourself get vulnerable to Will._

Clenching his jaw he walked over to where a bottle of rum stood, glistening soothingly in the sunlight. He reached for it and for three of the six glasses sitting next to it. Ignoring the hot stare of both Elizabeth and Kidd, he poured rum into the glasses and handed one to Kidd, and the other to Elizabeth. He sat down, this time fully prepared to look at Elizabeth fully in the eye.

Holding up his glass, he muttered, "To Will Turner."

Kidd followed suit and, a few moments later, so did Elizabeth, her voice unsteady and her eyes delivering those pent-up tears. They all drank, and Jack felt the liquid burn his throat, the familiar taste calming his distress. They sat in silence for a few moments before Jack realized he needed another drink. Getting up and reaching for the bottle, he gently turned it over in his hands, studying the golden-like liquid that called to him and promised him nirvana. The smooth glass glided over his calloused hands, and he caressed the bottle as if it were a newborn babe. 

Then, suddenly, he grasped the bottle and hurled it at the wall of the mess room, howling in anger and anguish. He saw the glass shatter, the elixir of bliss seep onto the unswept floors of the _Adventure Galley. _

He didn't know what made him do it. But all he knew was that with the shattering of the glass, his soul suddenly felt free. He no longer felt hopeless, but he knew his destiny lay in his own grasp. He could've drank that whole bottle of rum…but he hadn't. He had chosen to experience all of the pain that he had struggled to dull for so long.

At that moment, he knew that breaking that bottle of rum was the best decision he had ever made in his life.

Watching the liquid slowly seep into the wood and disappear, he was startled to feel a soft hand on his shoulder. Turning, he saw Elizabeth, fully swept with tears, her face flushed and her eyes red. She looked up at him with such a tender look that he knew he would see her through this. He owed it that much to her.

She reached out and enveloped him, and he felt her rugged gasps, her soft body collapsing in agonizing sobs. He closed his eyes and held her, forgetting his façade of flippancy, forgetting he was making himself vulnerable, regretting that he had not forced himself to feel the pain that had been hindering him for his entire life.

He didn't know how long he held her, but he knew that when she withdrew from him they had both been healed somehow. She wiped her eyes furiously. He gazed at her, silently admiring her strength and resolve. She looked up at him and said, "Thank you, Jack."

He tried to smile, but he was sure it looked more like a grimace. "For what?"

"Just…thank you," she said. She offered him a weak, unpromising smile and turned from him towards Kidd, who nodded curtly at Jack and ushered her out of the mess hall, rubbing her back and whispering to her soothingly.

Unsure of what to do with himself, Jack glanced at the shards of glass that lay shining on the floor. He suddenly felt guilty for losing his usually well-kept temper and knelt down to pick them up. One by one he gently placed the shattered fragments of the rum bottle in his hand, collecting them as if they were precious jewels.

So, you think that by breaking a bottle of rum, you've saved yourself? 

Jack paused, then thought, _Yes._

The voice laughed at him mockingly. _You're daft if you think that, Jack Sparrow._

"Aye, daft," he said aloud, smirking slightly. 

As he continued to pick up the pieces, a sharp pain crossed the palm of his right hand, and Jack glanced down to see he had cut himself full-across his hand, the wound beginning to bleed rather heavily. Bits of blood dropped onto the mess hall floor and onto some of the uncollected pieces of glass. He stared down at his hand silently for a few moments, wondering how he had managed to do that. He looked from his ruby-filled hand to his left hand, full of pure, shining glass.

Standing up slowly, his eyes still on his left hand full of the fragments, looked around to make sure no one else had entered the mess room. He then, in one slow, flowing movement, dropped all of the glass back onto the floor, where the pieces softly broke apart once more. He stared down at the mess for a few more minutes before smirking and shaking his head.

_Only I would bother so much over a bloody bottle of rum, _he thought. _Perhaps I shall have a funeral for it._

The sunlight now shone brighter through the windows, the heat of midday approaching. Grabbing a chair, Jack positioned himself so he directly faced the sunlight, the heavenly beams soothing his tired face and exhausted body. He closed his eyes, letting the sunrays tickle his bare skin, and knew that he could never turn his back on the sun again.

_Sunlight be a pirate's mate, while darkness be a pirate's hate. _The child-like rhyme he had heard over his years of piracy came back to him with a jolt.He had quite forgotten about it, having learned it when he was a mere lad. Yet the truth to it was inescapable, and suddenly Jack realized he had to enjoy as much of the sun as he possibly could before the inevitable darkness would overtake him.

And there was no better place in the world to bask in the joys of the sun than in the Caribbean.

~*~

Please review? Not too fond of this chapter…please let me know what you think. I could just be too hard on myself. Honest criticism is appreciated. Thanks!


	7. Tana

**Disclaimer: **See previous "disclaimers". Unfortunately, they're all alike.

**A/N: **I AM SO SORRY! FROM THE BOTTOM OF ME SCURVY HEART, I'M SORRY! I had no idea it's been like, a month and a half since I've updated. I had spring break, went to Wisconsin, did scholarship stuff, had my birthday, and BAM! Time flew by. I apologize for that.

Well, this chapter is extra long, a dedication to all of you who waited for me to update. It's appreciated. I warn you that there isn't a lot of action in this, but Jack is being, well, Jack, and I think you'll enjoy that.

The title of the chapter will be explained in the chapter itself (shocking, isn't it?) I really hope you enjoy…not sure if you will, but I hope!

________

Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye

Tana 

________

He wanted to rip his eyes out, to break something, to butcher Sparrow and his bloody crew like they were cattle. He wanted to bathe in their blood, to cook their flesh and eat them for supper. He wanted to put Sparrow's head in a jar and place it on his desk, where he would be reminded of his accomplishment every day.

But all Ratherford was doing now was staring out of his window, breathing heavily, watching the sun rise higher in the cloudless, blue sky, trying to think of what to do.

The blasted pirates were gone, and havoc had overtaken Port Royal. Rumors about the infamous Jack Sparrow were suddenly alive again, and people were beginning to panic. It was all over the local newspaper, and even in the _London Times_. His reputation was hanging by a thread, and Sparrow was the one holding the scissors. One _snip_, and Ratherford would lose everything he had worked so hard to attain.

A knock on the door startled him, but he quickly regained his composure as he huffed, "Enter."

Colonel Stanley entered, and Ratherford nodded slightly, adjusting his hawkish gaze on the young man. 

"Sir," Stanley began, "have you made your decision yet?"

He looked at the colonel, a young, handsome fellow who had the healthy air of someone who had a proper English upbringing and had the capabilities of doing great things with his life. Ratherford liked him, and had made him his personal aide.

"Yes," he responded to Stanley, slowly turning on his heel to face him directly. He paused a few more moments before continuing. "We shall pursue Sparrow. Have the H.M.S. _Intrepid_ man the decks and load the cargo."

"Aye, sir," Stanley replied. He saluted and turned to go, but stopped as he opened the door. "Oh…and Commodore?"

"Yes?"

"Governor Swann is here to see you. And, if I might add, sir, he looks superbly angry."

~*~

Smithe had been looking forward to meeting Jack Sparrow, but had not gotten a chance to until the next morning. He awoke early before first light had risen from the horizon. His sleeping quarters were dark and dank, the familiar sounds of snoring and heavy breathing invaded his ears. The soft and calming sway of the _Galley _soothed him as he clambered out of his hammock, threw on his pants and boots, and, careful not to wake anyone accidentally, slipped out of the sleeping quarters.

Yawning and rubbing his eyes in an attempt to adjust his vision, Smithe climbed up on deck. The salty sea was calm as false dawn began to rise. The wind blew his sandy-colored hair slightly as he stood there, enjoying the peacefulness of a newly awaking sea. Scanning the deck, he saw O'Reilly, who was on watch on the port side, his arms folded on the railing, his eyes closed. Nothing was lovelier to a pirate than alone time with the sea. The bond between the two was unbreakable, and whenever a man had a chance to be alone with his soul mate, he took it.

Smithe continued to scan the deck and noticed that there was a strange figure at the wheel. It was not Kidd, nor was it any other member of the _Galley's _crew. He could only make out a silhouette, and could barely see the figure's long hair swaying softly in the breeze. The man had a confident air to him, and Smithe found himself oddly drawn towards the mysterious pirate. He approached cautiously and quietly, not wanting to call attention to himself. The pirate continued to steer, his hands firmly grasping the wheel. The man looked majestic, almost god-like with his royal posture and confident gaze. Smithe continued to approach and stopped just shy of two feet from him. The man, whose back was toward him, didn't seem to notice.

Smithe opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the pirate whirled around and pointed his sword barely an inch away from Smithe's neck. The young man's eyes grew wide, but he had no time to react and reach for his own sword. He stood there, a vulnerable, wide-eyed youth, his mouth gaping, his expression fearful.

"Bloody hell," the figure muttered, sheathing his sword. "Don't you know never to sneak up on a pirate?"

Smithe still couldn't talk. He was shaking from head to foot.

"What be your name, boy?"

Smithe remained silent.

"Ahoy, there. What be your name?"

Nothing.

"Are you deaf, mute, or both?"

From somewhere, Smithe found his voice. "Neither," he responded shakily.

"He speaks! Joy to the world, he's got a tongue. I knew a man once…had no tongue. Had to have his parrot speak for him. Nasty business, but as it were, damn fine sailor. Just because he had no tongue didn't mean he didn't have talent as a pirate. Tongues don't dictate skill, savvy? Never prejudice yourself against a man who be missing a tongue. He might just be a bloody wonderful pirate."

What be this man talking about? 

"Me…me name is Smithe," he said, unsure if the man was done with his incessant talking.

"Smithe?"

"Aye."

"Good name, Smithe. Related to John Smith?"

The young man blinked. _Who in the hell be John Smith?_

The pirate picked up on the youth's confusion. "You know, the founder of Jamestown. First city in the New World. That whole business with Pocahontas? Pity he died so young. Heard he was a fine chap."  
  


_Who be this daft man?_

"What be yer name?"

"_Captain _Jack Sparrow," the man answered. "No relation to John Smith."

This is Jack Sparrow? But the man ain't be making no bloody sense… 

"Jack Sparrow?" Smithe asked unconvincingly.

The man sniffed, annoyed. "Aye."

The sun broke over the horizon, and Smithe got a better look at the man to whom he was talking. Tan, ruggedly intriguing with braided hair and ripped, tattered clothes, he looked hardly the part of the revered man who was now the talk of the seas. Yet there was an aura about him that intrigued the young man; something about Sparrow made one realize that beyond his nonsensical babbling, there was an undeniable intelligence.

"Where be we going?" Smithe found himself asking.

Sparrow gave him a backwards glance. "Madagascar. Antananarivo, to be exact."

Smithe stared at him, and Sparrow elaborated. "You might be more familiar with the port of Tana? Tana be short for Antananarivo." 

The young man could hardly believe his ears. "Tana? But Tana be a pirate's haven. Rumors say it be better than Tortuga."

Sparrow nodded. "Aye."

"What be it like there?"

Sparrow turned away from the wheel to look directly at Smithe, his eyes dark and sullen, his mouth curved downward. "I've been there once, and swore I would never return unless I had to. But there be no other place for us to go, lad."

Smithe frowned. "Be it that dangerous, eh?"

Sparrow stared at him for a moment so intensely that Smithe felt his insides begin to squirm. Then, ever so slowly, the other man pulled up the sleeve of his left arm. On it were burns so severe that the scar tissue was white and disfigured. Smithe felt his stomach recoil but opened his mouth in surprise. He had never seen a burn so bad…

"I earned meself this in Tana. Now you know why I'm not excited to be returning." Sparrow paused for a moment, and then grinned slyly. "I'd watch me back if I were you, Smithe. There be more in Tana than just pirates, I guarantee it."

~*~

"Lis, you don't know how dangerous Madagascar is," Kidd pleaded, passing a hand through his thick, wavy hair. "Even the most ruthless pirates avoid it."

"Have you ever been there?" Elizabeth asked. She sat across from him in the mess hall and stared intently at him.

"No. And for good reason, too," Kidd mumbled, shaking his head. "It's no place for anyone, Lis, especially for you."

"Oh, is that what this is about?" she demanded, folding her arms. "Because of my condition, I am no longer allowed or capable of taking care of myself?"

"No. But I don't know if my crew can even take care of themselves in Tana. If only you heard the stories that I hear…"

"Then why don't you tell me some?" 

"Absolutely not," Kidd concluded with such finality that Elizabeth looked shocked. "You have no idea what goes on there, Lis, and I only have a faint clue. All I know is that many famous pirates go there, and none of them ever return. It isn't like Tortuga, Lis. There are natives there. There's witchcraft, voodoo, cannibalism…"

"Are you trying to frighten me, William?" Elizabeth asked him, one eyebrow raised.

"Jesus Christ, Elizabeth, I'm scared myself to go there!" he responded, shaking his head. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into. I am captain of this ship, and I am responsible for the well being of my crew. If I feel that they are in danger or at any point in time change my mind, I will turn this ship around faster than the wind can change course. I will never intentionally put my crew in harm's way, and I will never put you in danger, either. Is that understood?"

"William – "

"Is that understood?" he repeated, fixing his glare on her.

Elizabeth met his gaze and nodded curtly. "Understood."

"Good. I am doing this for you because I love you, Elizabeth. I want nothing more for you to be happy. Until your father handles Ratherford, we must stay as far away from Jamaica as possible. You came up with Tana, and I have agreed because I can think of no other place where us pirates wouldn't be arrested, shackled, and hung before we could utter a word. But if I think of another place, be aware that we will go there. I would go anywhere but Tana."

"I trust your judgment, William," Elizabeth said quietly, offering him a tear-filled smile. "And I thank you for doing this."

Kidd wanted to kick himself for the way he had lectured her. It was bad enough that she had lost her husband, left her home, and was headed halfway across the globe, but now her cousin was lecturing her about safety? She was a bright lass, and he had no place to do that.

"Don't thank me, Lis. I would sail across the entire world if you asked me to," he replied softly.

"Excuse me, but am I interrupting a cousin-cousin bonding moment?" came an unmistakable voice from the door.

"No, Jack, come in," Elizabeth replied. "We were just discussing our destination."

"Yes," Kidd chimed in as Jack approached the table and took a seat next to Elizabeth. "We've decided upon – "

"Tana," interrupted Jack, nodding.

"How the blazes did you know?" Kidd asked, surprised.

"Pirate's intuition, mate. The only other place in the world where a pirate can go to avoid detection."

"You've been there?" Elizabeth questioned, turning to look at Jack.

"Aye." He remained silent for a minute, and then turned to Kidd. "It would be best if we leave ten of your crew on ship with Elizabeth. She should not be allowed into Tana."

"I beg your pardon!" Elizabeth gasped, angrily focusing her attention on Jack. "I am not going to be left on this ship like some piece of art, being guarded just because you have a paranoia complex and – "

"Like I said," Jack spoke louder over Elizabeth's protests. "She should not be allowed in Tana."

"William, tell him he is being absolutely preposterous!" she insisted. "I do not need to be protected. I demand – "

"You demand nothing, young missy," Jack said, suddenly angry. "You do not know Tana like I know 'er. She is not to be trifled with. No one is hated more in Tana than English aristocracy. I have seen the brutality they do to them with my own eyes. Do not think you know what is always best for you, Miss Swann...there are things in Madagascar that would make your hair curl."

Elizabeth remained silent, and Kidd knew that his cousin was suddenly aware that she might not be as knowledgeable as she thought. Jack's burst of anger had brought to light that she was still a somewhat naïve, aristocratic daughter of a well-to-do governor, who was far away from home and in a delicate condition. Those who had suffered under aristocratic rule would not take her to nicely. The realization seemed to make Elizabeth contemplate Jack's caution and Kidd's concern.

Kidd cleared his throat, and Jack turned to look at him. "We're on course. We should be there in perhaps a week, maybe less. The wind is picking up speed, and it is blowing' in our favor."

"Good," Kidd nodded. "You're my co-captain, Captain Sparrow. You know your pirating, and I know mine. You are a damn fine one, and I expect your help once we get to Tana."

Jack smiled. It felt good to be called "Captain Sparrow". "I'd be obliged to help ye, Captain Kidd."

Kidd smiled and stood up. "I will be making the announcement to my crew. If you'll excuse me." He nodded to Jack, winked at Elizabeth, and strode out of the mess hall.

Elizabeth, who had been staring down at her clasped hands resting in her lap, was suddenly aware of the closeness between her and Jack. She turned her head to face him and was startled to know he was barely three inches away from her face. She could see into his chocolate brown eyes, and noticed, strangely, that there was a glint in them. 

"What is it, Jack?" she whispered, narrowing her eyes.

Jack smiled and remained silent for a moment. Just when she was about to ask again, Jack responded, barely above a whisper.

"It seems as though the whelp isn't dead after all."

~*~

"Not dead?"

"Aye. Not dead."

Bootstrap felt his heart collapse, and he was sure he was about to have a heart attack. He had trouble breathing, his vision blurred, and a ringing in his ears made him want to vomit. _Not dead…his son wasn't dead…_

"How do you know?" he managed to whisper.

"The curse isn't broken."

Bootstrap eyed Jack crookedly. "Then why were you bleeding? How were you on the verge of death?"

Jack shrugged. "The Gods play with its own rules. If they created the Curse, they could change its capabilities. Makes sense, aye?"

"You better as hell not be jestering me, Jack Sparrow. This is my son we're talking about," Bootstrap warned.

"Yes, yes, you're son, Elizabeth's husband, my whelp. Tit goes to tat, we share a drink of rum, and everyone's happy," Jack said. "But that means dear William junior is going to need to be rescued."

"Good. We turn back immediately," Bootstrap said. He stood up in his small room and began to gather up his things. "I'll tell Kidd."

"Bloody hell you will," Jack said, standing up and blocking the door. "The entire Royal Fleet of Port Royal is looking for us. If they find us, it's goodbye to all of us, savvy? You can't do that, Bill. You're being compulsive."

Bill turned towards Jack, his eyes menacing and his jaw clenched. "I can do whatever the hell I please, Sparrow. He's my son. I lost him twice, and I _refuse _to lose him again."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh for scurvy's sake!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "First of all, ye won't be able to get Kidd to turn this ship around. Second, ye ain't got a plan of action, and we all know what the absence of plans does to all of us. And third, ye won't only be endangering all of our lives, Bill, but you'll be endangering Elizabeth's. She's an accomplice to piracy, and Ratherford will hang her without a second thought. You endanger Elizabeth, you endanger your grandchild."

"Don't you _ever _accuse me of endangering my grandchild," Bootstrap said, placing his face three inches from Jack's. "I remember you, Jack, but I don't necessarily trust you. Just because we were friends does not mean that we're friends now. Your stupidity in telling Barbossa where to find Isle de la Muerta caused me to be flung overboard, and caused me to lose out in my son's life. I don't want your help, and I don't need it."

Jack stood there for a few minutes before answering. "You were never in your son's life, Bill. Don't pretend it be my fault he hates you."

Bootstrap unsheathed his sword and pointed it at Jack. "Say it again, Sparrow. I dare you."

Jack blinked and stared, shocked, at Bill Turner. "What happened to you?" he asked.

"I spent the better part of my life trying to find my son. Instead, he found you. Now he looks up to you like the father he never had. He rejects me and admires you." He lowered his sword and sheathed it, turning his back on Jack. 

"You can't be serious," Jack replied. "You be his father, Bill, that's an undeniable fact. He's got your blood, and I told him that he's going to have to square with that some day. The poor lad needed a father, and I just happened to get meself locked up in jail around the same time his strumpet got carried off by Barbossa. He just happened to put the pieces together and realize that he needed my help. He saved my life, true enough, but he's got one father."

Bootstrap said nothing, and Jack suddenly felt embarrassed that he let himself get so emotional in front of someone.

"Everything was so much easier when I was marooned," reflected Jack, shaking his head. "Just me, the sun, and a nice bottle of rum. No sons, no wives, no grandchildren, no curse, nothing. Beautiful island, really."

"Are you talking about the first or the second time you were marooned?" Bill suddenly asked.

"The first, of course. The second I had to take care of that lass. She was all over me, mind you. Violated my privacy…couldn't keep her hands off me. Had to practically tie her to a palm tree to prevent her from flinging herself on meself. Ruined the view, really. We would've been a good couple, the young miss and me. Instead she threw it away on a Blacksmith. A waste and a pity, really."

"You're talking about my daughter-in-law, Sparrow. You may be able to speak that way about Scarlet, but not about Elizabeth. Be careful."

Jack smirked. "Oh, so you _have _heard about the infamous night between me and Scarlet? Let me tell you – "

"Jack!"

He turned to see Gibbs hanging in through the door. "Jack, we got a problem."

"What is it?" Jack asked.

"You'd better heard what a young lad named Smithe has to say. He was in Anamaria's quarters, saw her, and suddenly started rantin' and ravin'…"

"Smithe? Oh, the one with no relation to John Smith?"

Gibbs blinked. "What?"

Jack shook his head. "John Smith." Gibbs looked quizzically at him. "You know…Jamestown? Pocahontas? Am I the _only _bloody person who knows my history?"  
  


"This be serious, Jack," Gibbs cut in urgently. "The curse might be broken soon, aye."

Jack stared dumbly at Gibbs. "What?"

"Young Smithe had a coin. A coin made of Aztec gold…with a skull on it," Gibbs said, rubbing his forehead. 

"_Had _a coin?" Bootstrap asked, coming up directly behind Sparrow.

"Aye," Gibbs nodded vehemently. "Don't have it no more."

"That could be the reason why the curse isn't broken and Will is still alive," commented Bill to Jack. "There's another coin out there."

"Who took it?" Jack asked, gathering his stuff and preparing to follow Gibbs's beckoning. The man shook his head, apparently too baffled to speak. "Gibbs, answer, man!" he growled, panic rising in his belly.

Gibbs cleared his throat and wiped the sweat off of his brow "A certain dark-skinned lass named Anamaria."

~*~

I hope you like…not much action. But next chapter they arrive in Tana…you'll love it. Promise. 

I'd also be honored if you reviewed to let me know what you think of the whole Tana idea…please? Thanks, mateys. :)


	8. Tlazolteotl

**A/N: **I would apologize for being late with an update again, but you already know I'm sorry. - **I honestly do suggest, however, that you re-read the last two chapters for a little refresher on what has happened so far.** This is where things start to get even more tricky than they already are. I used some extensive research of Aztec lore, mythology, and gods and goddesses in this chapter…I sincerely hope you enjoy it!!!!

* * *

**Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye**

_Tlazolteotl_

* * *

"Sir, they killed him."

"And what proof do you have of that, Commodore Ratherford? What undeniable proof do you possess that can prove that my son-in-law has murdered Commodore Norrington?" snapped Governor Swann, his eyes wide in fury, his breath shallow and impatient. "If you intend on hanging my daughter's husband, you had best claim you have absolute evidence of his guilt."

"I cannot disclose such information at this time, however – "

"I am the governor of Port Royal, sir. You _must _disclose such information to me," he growled, trying desperately not to loose his calm temperament.

Swann could tell that Ratherford was not used to being addressed in such a manner, but the governor couldn't care less. The man was responsible for the whipping of his son-in-law and the despair of his daughter. Now, thanks to his ruthlessness and violence, Elizabeth had run away with pirates, now gallivanting about the sea _yet again_…

"Sir, if I may, I would be…honored…if you would join us in pursuit of Ms. Swann - "

"Mrs. Turner, commodore. Mrs. Turner." Governor Swann didn't know what possessed him to correct the man, but he felt that, due to the circumstances, it was important.

"Yes…Mrs. Turner. We are loading the H.M.S. _Intrepid _as we speak to pursue Sparrow and his band of malefactors. If you feel my service has been, shall we say, _inappropriate_, I would appreciate nothing more than for you to join us and correct me in my actions. That way, we are guaranteed that another misunderstanding such as this will ever happen again."

The governor studied Ratherford critically, and quickly decided that he didn't trust the man any farther than he could throw him. His bird-like stare was severe and cold, his stance unapproachable, his jaw clenched and strong. Something about him made Swann shiver despite the hot Caribbean heat. His gut told him not to go with the commodore, to take a different ship, to figure out another way. But he also knew that the fastest way to reach his daughter would be to for him to accompany Ratherford on the _Intrepid_.

"Yes, commodore, I will join you on the _Intrepid. _However," Swann continued, his eyes narrowing in worried anticipation, "I would first like to see my son-in-law."

* * *

"You saw _who?"_

Jack studied the young, boyishly handsome man in front of him and frowned. He was almost positive that the man wouldn't lie about being confronted by Anamaria, but how could he have been if she had been unconscious the whole time?

Smithe didn't answer, but just raised his arm and pointed across the room to where Anamaria lay, still unconscious, being tended to by Ingrid.

"You're sure?"

"I is positive," came the shaky response.

"The boy's gone mad, reckon," Dolan commented from a corner of the room. "She's been unconscious this whole time."

"I ain't gone mad!" Smithe suddenly shouted, fixing his angry glare on Dolan. "I know who I seen, and I seen her!" He jabbed his index finger towards Anamaria.

"Mad," Dolan repeated, shaking his head, intentionally disregarding Smithe's outburst. "Completely mad…"

"Ye scurvy brig rat!" Smithe growled as he charged Dolan. The Irishman fixed his gaze on the considerably younger and thinner pirate and turned sideways, his right fist in the air, preparing to strike.

"Don't you dare, boy!" he warned.

"Oh by all the waves of the sea!" Jack Sparrow grabbed onto the younger man by the collar of his shirt; Smithe was still intent on charging Dolan. He was leaning completely away from Jack, violently throwing his fists in the air, growling in anger. _The boy has spirit, _Jack thought to himself. "Stop it…Smithe! Damn you, boy, stop this nonsense right now!" With another tug on his shirt, Smithe eventually calmed down and lowered his fists, huffing and puffing like a hunting dog who was intent on the attack. Jack let go of the boy's collar and stepped in between the two, his arms on his hips in annoyance. "Now that we're all acting like the civilized pirates that we are, let me make something clear."

Jack paused to make sure everyone was paying attention. Dolan rolled his eyes and folded his arms. "I saw that, Irishman," he commented. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw Dolan grin.

"So what are you going to be making clear, Jack?" Gibbs asked. His eyes were dark and serious.

Jack cleared his throat dramatically, enjoying the attention. "I do not believe young Mr. Smithe here is lying to us," Jack said. "Although," he added, narrowing his eyes, "I wish he were."

"What?"

"Are any of ye familiar with the Aztec gods?" he asked, turning to them each in turn. "Anyone…_anyone_?" No one spoke. "Well then, my ladies and lads, it is time you become acquainted. Because they are surely acquainted with each and every one of us."

"Captain Sparrow," Kidd chimed up, his face tense but curious. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed dramatically, and adjusted his sheath and belt around his waist as he spoke. "The Aztec gods want their gold back, aye?" Grunts in acknowledgement were heard, as a few heads were nodded. "And they will go to any length to get all of the coins. They are tricksters, those gods. They have a tendency to get involved in the lives of us mere mortals – apparently immortality gets quite uneventful after a while. I believe that a few of the gods are interested in helping Barbossa in exchange for the retrieval of their gold coins."

There was a heavy silence until Bootstrap spoke. "Are you saying that Smithe was approached by one of the gods?"

Jack grinned mischievously, looking up. "Aye."

"It was that lass!" Smithe protested, pouting. "I be willin' to swear it, cap'n," he turned to Kidd pleadingly. "I swear!"

"Of course you saw her, Mr. Smithe," Jack spoke for Kidd, nodding slowly. "One of the goddesses took on her form."

"You're mad too, reckon," Dolan commented with certainty. "Shape-shifting Aztec goddesses? Have you been into our storage of rum, Sparra? 'Cause if you have – "

"Did you ever stop to consider," Jack interrupted, "that perhaps it isn't all of us who are daft, but in fact, it is _you_?"

Dolan frowned in contemplation, and Jack took advantage of the silence to continue. "This is the only explanation, and, quite frankly, it makes perfect sense. We are being pursued by the gods."

"All of them?" It was Elizabeth who spoke, and Jack turned to study her. He realized with a start that she looked…different. He couldn't tell what it was. She looked –

"No, not all of them," Jack said, interrupting his own thoughts. "Some of them favor us mortals and care for us. But this goddess who is taking on the form of Anamaria…she's worth her weight in gold. Evil, as it were."

"What's her name?" Elizabeth asked again.

"Tlazolteotl."

Dolan snorted loudly. "Now he be making words up, reckon."

"Still don't believe me, eh?" Jack asked.

"No."

Jack grumbled something about 'the superstitious Irish', then spoke. "Anamaria has been unconscious for a good while now, aye, Ingrid?"

"Aye," Ingrid replied, nodding her head.

"And you were unable to figure out a logical cause for it?"

"Aye."

"And you were unable to wake her up?"

"Aye."

Jack nodded, his arms folded behind his back, his head nodding gently in expectation of the answers. He paced back and forth in front of Ingrid, his face fixed on the ground in front of him. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she observed him – if she didn't know better, she would compare Jack to that of an attorney interrogating a lead witness.

"Irishman," Jack said to Dolan. "If I wake her up, you owe me your rum rations for two weeks."

Dolan coughed despite himself. "_Two weeks?"_

"Aye, two weeks. What say you?"

"Er…"

"Not so sure?" taunted Jack, raising his eyebrows.

Dolan took the bait. "Two weeks it is." And they shook on it.

"Beautiful," Jack whispered, grinning.

"Er…Captain Sparrow? How do you plan on…ah, bringing her back to consciousness?" Kidd asked.

"Watch and learn, my good captain." From the inside of his blouse, Jack extracted a small glass vial. Tinted a deep, emerald green, it was shaped intricately in the shape of a cobra, its considerably large head sticking up from the rest of the coiled body, its teeth sharp and its mouth open, ready to strike at its prey. There was a cork in between the two sets of teeth, and Jack pulled it out easily. He walked over to Anamaria's bed and positioned her so that her head was propped up against his shoulder. The silence in the room was deafening, and Dolan felt himself growing agitated; strangely, he was unable to turn away. His eyes were glued to Jack and Anamaria, his heart pounding, his palms sweaty with anticipation. He watched as Jack carefully tilted the vial forty-five degrees, allowing only two droplets from the vial to slip into her mouth.

Dolan almost screamed in shock when Anamaria immediately began to sputter and cough, fracturing the heavy silence. She opened her eyes but continued to cough heavily. She sounded ill, as if she were suffering from consumption, but almost at once her skin turned back to its original color, the pallid white gone from her exotic face. Her eyes were bloodshot, but other than that, Dolan was impressed with how healthy she actually seemed.

Jack patted Anamaria's back as she coughed, and Dolan was the first to notice the relief that flooded Jack's eyes when he looked at the conscious, coughing Anamaria. There were sighs of relief soon afterwards that filled the room, and Dolan turned to see Elizabeth smiling wide, her eyes sparkling, her gaze fixed on Jack and Anamaria. Her happiness was contagious – he felt his own lips curl upwards with relief as well.

Her coughing eventually died down and Jack helped her to sit up. He noticed that she was shaking slightly, and Jack presumed it was from the many days she had spent without using her muscles. She began to breathe more easily in deep, somewhat raspy inhalations. Her eyes searched frantically around the room, as if trying to remember what had taken place. Jack stood up from the bed as he struggled to hold back a huge smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything, the old woman began to flail her arms about wildly, gesturing them leave. "Alright, ye pirates, out…out!" cried Ingrid, shooing them all away. "The poor lass needs 'er rest!"

All the rest filed out of the room, relief flooding their faces. They whispered excitedly to one another, and Jack saw Elizabeth look backwards towards him, offering him a congratulatory smile. Jack nodded to her in recognition.

"Take care of her, Ingrid," Jack commented, and Ingrid nodded.

"Promise, Sparra. I'll take good care of the tough girl."

"If you need anything, I'll be on deck."

"Aye, I know."

"Any time…day, night, and the like. If you need me, get me."

"Aye."

"If you have any questions, come to me first, savvy."

"Uh-huh."

"And if – "

"Bloody hell, would ye leave?" Ingrid asked as she approached him. He felt himself being pushed out of the door by the plump woman's hands, and he allowed her to get him halfway towards the door. He looked back at Ingrid, and the woman just grinned at him and nodded, gesturing for him to go.

Jack turned to leave, feeling like a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest. Anamaria would be better, and his theory was correct – the Aztec gods were after them. At least he had what he needed in the cobra vial – it was enough to last them for a good three months. That, of course, depended on how badly Tlazolteotl wanted to punish them –

As he was about to step out of the doorway, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to look down directly into Anamaria's upturned face. Ingrid held her other hand, and Jack guessed it was because she was still too weak to walk on her own. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack shushed her. "Don't – don't. I know. You're welcome." He grinned.

She offered him a genuine smile, and Jack momentarily found himself lost in her coffee-colored eyes as they twinkled up at him. He cleared his throat and broke their gaze, genuinely uncomfortable, and offered her an awkward pat on the head as if she were a rabid dog. "There, there. Consider that payment for your ship that I borrowed without permission."

Anamaria raised a critical eyebrow, and Jack was preparing to dodge an unexpected slap from her. But, before he knew what was happening to him, he realized Anamaria had wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him.

He looked like a deer caught in the hunter's rifle range, he knew that much. As she hugged him, Jack looked up to Ingrid for direction. She smiled and merely mouthed, _Hug her back, ye bloody scoundrel._

He carefully placed his arms around her waist and awkwardly squeezed. Anamaria didn't let go.

_I wasn't this bloody awkward around Scarlet, that's for bloody sure, _Jack thought to himself. He looked up behind Anamaria's shoulder to see Ingrid peering at him curiously.

_Help_, he mouthed to Ingrid, his eyes pleadingly beseeching her for rescue from Anamaria's embrace. But Ingrid just smiled knowingly and walked out of the room. He watched her leave, and promised himself he would get her back for leaving him in such an…uneasy…situation.

But as he continued to just hold Anamaria, he knew he didn't want any help. He was perfectly fine.

He was more than fine.

He was happy.

* * *

Will stared out of his cell window. _Window, _he thought bitterly to himself. _It is hardly a window. A small one-by-two barred hole in the wall, is more like._

It was a gorgeous day in Port Royal. The sun was shining and reflecting its warmth off of the sparkling water. The sea was calm and relaxing, the surf's soft singing almost bringing peace to his over-exerted mind. He had grown up overlooking that beach, wondering where his father might be sailing to, wondering what he would be doing in ten, fifteen, twenty years from then. He had dreamed of great adventures as a member of the Port Royal Guard, fighting pirates and keeping the Jamaican port safe from any invaders…

If he knew what his life was actually going to be like, Will would have laughed.

Friends with one of the most infamous pirates in the Caribbean, a pirate himself, and now arrested for the murder of Commodore James Norrington, he is hardly the respectable gentleman that he had longed to be so many years ago.

The soft tittering of the seagulls on the beach brought a small smile to Will's lips. Everything was so soothing, so familiar, that he was almost happy. The hot sun, the cool sea, the salty breeze…it all made his heart ache for Elizabeth.

_ Oh, Elizabeth…_

That beach made him think of her. He remembered strolling along that beach with her at night…they would talk about the weather, books, sailing, friends…everything. She was his main confidant, the only person whom he felt entirely at ease with. He sensed that she was the only one who could understand him, the only one who would ever understand him.

_"I don't understand you."_

_Will looked at her and frowned. "Huh?"_

_"I don't understand you, William Turner."_

_"What did I say?" he asked._

_It was in the middle of the night, and they were strolling on the beach, letting the surf come up to tickle their ankles, looking up at the twinkling stars and the full, beautiful moon. _

_"You didn't say anything. I just…ugh, I don't know," she said in frustration, pursing her lips. "You just confuse me."_

_He looked at her quizzically and she met his gaze. He looked into her beautiful eyes as they reflected in the light of the moon, her soft, smooth skin illuminated in the moon's beams. Her hair blew in the gentle wind as she began to smile, and Will felt himself smiling, realizing she was so beautiful…_

_But then he remembered he was just a blacksmith's apprentice with no future, no hope to spend his life with someone as well-to-do as the governor's daughter. He suddenly felt self-conscious and uneasy, and he quickly averted his gaze out towards the sea._

_"See?" she cried with indignation._

_"What did I do?" he asked defensively, turning to face her but avoiding her eyes._

_"You always do that! You always look at me like…like…like _that _and then you turn away." Her voice was filled with unhappiness, and he thought he could detect pain in her cry as well._

_Speechless, all Will could do was gape at her. She was perceptive, he would give her that. "I…what do you want me to do?" he asked her once he found his voice. It came out raspy and uneasy._

_"I want you to look at me like you looked at me when we were watching the sunset," she said quietly._

_"Miss Swann, that was –that was four years ago!"_

_He saw her shake her head, and Will felt a panic rise up in his gut. He hated seeing her upset. "I know, Will. But…but I loved it when you looked at me like that."_

_The moon was suddenly plunged behind a dark cloud, and Will was thrown into complete darkness. He couldn't see anything…he couldn't even see Elizabeth who was right next to him. All he could sense was the soft rustling of the palm trees in the Caribbean breeze and the soft surf lapping at the sand._

_When the moon emerged from behind the cloud, Will could suddenly see Elizabeth again. In those few moments of darkness, he had forgotten how beautiful she had looked moments before when the moon had cradled her face, outlining her high cheeks, her kind eyes, her fair skin…_

_"Like that," she whispered._

_"What?" Will could hardly speak, and his voice was softer than Elizabeth's._

_"The way you're looking at me. Don't stop."_

_He wanted to kiss her…he wanted to cradle her face in his hands, run his fingers through her hair, hold tightly to her for the rest of his years. As if she read his mind, she raised her hand to his cheek. It was incredibly soft, like a newborn babe's skin, and Will realized that his own hands were calloused and rough from the smithy. He watched with wide eyes as she walked towards him, her hand still on his cheek. She turned her head upwards and closed her eyes, inching closer and closer…_

_"No," he heard himself say. He removed her hand from his cheek and looked down at the sandy shore. "Miss Swan…we can't."_

_He dared himself to look up, and when he did, his heart plunged. Her eyes became watery, her gaze hurt. She looked as if someone had just stabbed her in the heart, had taken away all of her hope and happiness…_

_He opened his mouth to explain himself, to remind her he was just a poor orphan who had no hope for the future, a boy who could never make her happy as a proper gentleman…_

_"Thank you, Mr. Turner. I think it's time I get back up to bed." She turned on her heels and began to climb towards the city._

_"I didn't - I didn't mean - I didn't mean it!" he stammered, fighting the urge to chase after her._

_She turned around to face him again, and he was shocked at the severity of her gaze, the coldness in her eyes. "That's good, Mr. Turner, because neither did I."_

Mr. Turner…

"Mr. Turner!"

Shaken from his reverie, Will turned around at the sound of his name to find Ratherford glaring at him through the bars. Even now, that hawkish gaze chilled Will to the bone –

"Governor Swann is here to pay you a visit."

Will looked to Ratherford's left and saw Swann standing there, looking at him with wide eyes. At first he was perplexed at the governor's shock…what was he so surprised about? But then Will realized how he must look…bruises and scrapes from Ratherford's beatings, a gash over his forehead from when Will wouldn't admit to his guilt in Norrington's death, a bruised right eye where the commodore had punched him repeatedly, trying to get him to break, to scream in agony…

"My God," he heard Swann mutter. "What happened to you?"

"Maybe you should ask Commodore Ratherford that," Will said, his raging gaze focusing on the hawkish man.

"You had better a good explanation for this, commodore," the governor warned. Will was subconsciously surprised at Swann's anger – he had never seen him quite so furious.

"For what, Governor Swann?" Ratherford asked. Will clenched his jaw: Ratherford was playing games with Swann.

"For these injuries on my son-in-law!"

Ratherford cleared his throat, and Will could tell he was looking for an explanation. "Sir, he has tried on one or more occasions to escape, and we have had to subdue the man. He has quite a temper – "

"Liar!" Will shouted as he charged at the bars.

"Shut up you worthless piece of vermin!" Ratherford growled. "Or I'll have you hung come next sunrise."

"Commodore Ratherford, that is _enough_."

Swann was staring vehemently at Ratherford, his arms stiffly at his sides, his chin held high. "You will release my son from this deplorable cell immediately. He is to accompany us on our search for my daughter and Sparrow."

My son…he said my _son_…

"But sir, he is –"

"He is innocent until proven guilty, lest I remind a Commodore of the Royal Fleet! Release him at this moment."

Will never had the urge to kiss another man before, but thanks to Governor Swann, he now did. The man had saved him – probably saved his _life_ – and had recognized Ratherford for what he actually was: a violent, ruthless man who valued nothing and no one.

The rusty key turned in the lock, and Will felt a sense of hope. He caught the Governor's eye, and was surprised to detect a small twinkle in them. Will continued to look at him until he barked, "Come come, William, we don't have all day now, do we? We must go and rescue your wife...again."

* * *

_Tlazolteotl__ shrieked in pain as she melted into the earth. Her form as that pirate girl Anamaria would no longer house her spirit – someone had found the potion, someone had administered it to her…_

_She screamed in agony again. Her whole body felt as if it were on fire, her skin boiling and her hair erupting in hot flames. She had been without a body for so long that she had thoroughly enjoyed the dark-skinned girl's persona. Being in the confines of skin and bone had brought back the feeling of invincibility, of beauty that she once had at the beginning of all time. But now she was restless, unhappy…she was vehemently jealous of the mortals for being so carefree, not realizing how lucky they were to not only have a spirit, but a body to house it…_

_Without warning, her spirit was spewed from Anamaria's body and into the atmosphere. She growled in anger, and swore to wreak vengeance on the man who had done this to her, who had made her lose everything she had wanted for so long. He was responsible for her misery, for her pain…_

_Without the girl's body, she could not take the coin. She could not prove her worth to her fellow gods and goddesses, and she could not use the coin to bargain with them, to coax them into letting her back into the High World she had been exiled from so many years before. That coin was the only way she would ever earn her way back into the happiness that she had lost. She needed that coin…she needed it._

_And now it wasn't with her anymore. It would magically reappear in the pocket of that young, boyishly attractive blonde boy – was Smithe his name? – and she would lose all hope of reentering the High World._

_Tlazolteotl__ let the wind carry her spirit out to sea, where she drifted for hours, wondering where to go to find a body. She looked at the ocean beneath her, the soft waves lapping against each other as if playing cheerfully. Where could she go to get another body? Where could she regain her dignity and her goal? Nobody wanted a goddess, especially one who was exiled from the High World for transgressions that were unspeakable…_

_She would have to go to a place where evil was inherent, where the voodoo was wicked and devilish, where people had no respect for themselves or each other. She could feed off of the evil, grow strong enough to eventually inhabit another body._

_She suddenly smiled to herself. Where else to find evil, wickedness, and crime other than the port of Tana?_

* * *

Please review. :)


	9. The Eclipse

**A/N: **Here I am, in good old college...attending Miami University of Ohio. I've been so busy lately that I honestly have not had time to update. But, because I love you all and I owe you at least a post every now and then, I decided to.

I hope I didn't upset any of you. I really apologize if this chapter isn't up to par, but it's been pretty stressful here, as you can imagine. So try to enjoy, even if it's not my best!!!

* * *

_Pirates of the Caribbean: The Wind's Eye_

_The Eclipse_

_

* * *

_

Somehow, everything seemed to be alright again now that he was back at sea.

The sea calmed him in a way nothing and no one else could. The sloshing of the waves against the hull of the boat brought a sense of earnest to his love of the shining waters that surrounded the _Intrepid _as they headed after Jack and Elizabeth.

The ironic thing was, up until he was eighteen, Will was terrified of the water – the indefiniteness of it all frightened him. The uncertainty of it, the strength of the waves, of the unknown depth...all of it made him feel unsure. He had always been timid about the unknown until Elizabeth...

"_Just go in, Will."_

"_Miss Swann, I can't swim. I'd drown," he protested, leaning over the dock the stood on, gazing timidly towards the calm water. _

"_Stop being such a baby."_

_Will shot Elizabeth a nasty glare, one of the only times he had ever done so. He was very self-conscious about his fear of water; especially considering he lived in Port Royal, which was practically surrounded by the blasted element. And he certainly didn't like letting Elizabeth, the love of his life, know about his terrible fright of swimming._

_His gaze was torn away from the black-blue waters as Elizabeth sighed heavily, crossing her arms over her chest. "Honestly."_

"_Honestly what?" Will grumbled._

"_I honestly would have thought you braver," she stated, her eyebrows rising._

"_I am brave. I just don't prefer water, if that's acceptable to you." He had never been so short with her._

_After a long pause in which Will was growing afraid that he had insulted her, she asked, "Will, do you drink water?" _

"_Yes..."_

"_Do you touch water at the smithy?"_

"_Always. We need that for – "_

"_Do you bathe, William Turner?"_

_Will blushed at the thought of Elizabeth thinking of him bathing. "Of course."_

"_Well then, you ingest it, you work with it at the smithy, and you even surround yourself in it while you sit in your bathtub. How could you possibly be afraid of it?"_

_Will looked at her, stricken dumb. How to respond to that?_

_To avoid answering her question, Will gazed out at the now completely set sun, and felt the salty breeze play with his unkempt hair. His eyes struggled to adjust to the growing darkness, and the only sound detectable was the lapping of the water on the hulls of the docked ships. Everyone in Port Royal was either eating supper, closing up shop, at the local saloons, or sleeping. Will suddenly felt extremely alone, and realized that he and Elizabeth were the only ones on the entire dock._

"_Are you really afraid of the ocean?" Elizabeth asked, a bit quieter this time._

"_Yes," he muttered._

"_It's a shame." _

_Suddenly, out of no where, Will saw Elizabeth dump her dress on the dock and, in only a lacey, frilly undergarment, she went flying past him and feet first into the water._

_It took a few moments for him to realize what had actually just happened, but when he did, his mind became frenzied and his heart began to beat extremely fast. He ran to look over the dock and saw Elizabeth treading water about four feet directly beneath him, smiling mischievously._

_He had secretly always loved that smile._

"_Miss Swann, what are you doing?" Will asked, alarmed. He reached out a hand to her. "Come on, I'll pull you out."_

"_Oh, Will, the water is so refreshing and cool," Elizabeth pouted. "Don't make me come out."_

_Will looked around the docks, and noticed that there still wasn't anyone present within a mile of them. Relieved but still tense, he said, "Don't play games. If your father comes down here and sees you in...in your...undergarments, swimming in the water with me watching, he will have me hung come high tide."_

_Elizabeth studied him for a few moments, and Will thought he saw a twinkle in her eyes; it was gone, however, before he could be sure. He extended his hand down towards her, encouraging her to get out. "Please, Miss Swann, it's growing dark. It's not safe."_

_Sighing, Elizabeth nodded, reaching for his hand. "Yes, I suppose you're right."_

_She took his hand, and Will struggled to pull her up. His eyes widened in surprise as he realized she was leaning back, using all of her weight to pull him towards her. She was going to pull him in!_

"_No...don't....Elizabeth!" he screamed as he fell face first into the water. Suddenly submerged and sinking fast, Will felt panic rise within him. He instinctively inhaled, and gulped down a mouthful of foul tasting sea water. He gagged as he became disoriented – his eyes stung from the salt, and all he could see was a never-ending blue blanket of water surrounding him..._

_And then, he found himself kicking and flapping as he propelled himself towards the surface. Breaking the water's top, he gasped for breath, inhaling deeply and coughing up water at the same time. He continued to kick and move his arms as he had seen Elizabeth do, and he found himself treading water with ease, although he was slightly out of breath due to his panic a few moments ago._

"_See? Not so bad, is it?"_

_Will turned to see Elizabeth treading directly beside him, grinning widely. Her hair was slightly messy and clung to her face and neck, the rest of her long locks flowing gracefully behind her like a mermaid. Her fair skin reflected against the gently flowing ripples, her eyes wide and beautiful..._

_Every other time he had caught himself openly admiring her, he had looked immediately away, embarrassed and out of place. But somehow, in the water, he felt he was shielded from all of the bashfulness and societal rules that he had dealt with for so long. The water protected him._

_He saw Elizabeth narrow her eyes, noticing his intent gaze upon her. She squirmed a bit, and then remarked, "That was the first time you called me that."_

"_Huh?" he asked dumbly, still gazing at her._

"_That was the first time you called me Elizabeth."_

_Will thought about it, and realized that she was absolutely correct. "Yes...you're right," he commented. Then, still looking at her, he remarked, "But it's a pity to avoid using such a beautiful name." He had said it before he could stop himself._

_Elizabeth had just blushed._

_And Will had just smiled._

"What is there to be smiling about, may I ask?"

Turning, Will looked into the face of Governor Swann, his inquisitive gaze reminding him a lot of Elizabeth's. "Oh, um, nothing, sir. Just a...ah, random memory."

The governor smirked and nodded slightly, and Will knew his story didn't convince his father-in-law. Clearing his throat awkwardly, the young man tightened his grip upon the railing of the _Intrepid, _feeling its lulling motion underneath his feet. He gazed out at the horizon and inhaled the fresh Caribbean air.

"William, I want to inform you that just because I have taken authority to Commodore Ratherford's ears does not mean that you are absolved of Commodore Norrington's murder."

Will turned to the governor, his face tense. "Sir, you _must _believe me...I had nothing to do with it, and neither did Jack – "

"Jack?" the governor replied questioningly.

"Uh, yes, sir...Jack Sparrow."

"The _pirate_?"

"Yes...the pirate," he answered hesitantly.

The governor sighed and nodded his head. "I figured as much. I thought I had taught Elizabeth to choose her friends wisely."

Will pursed his lips, unwilling to talk. He didn't want to upset Elizabeth's father, especially not now that the man whom Will had wanted acceptance from his whole life was beginning to warm up to him. But something nudged at his stomach, and he knew that he couldn't let the governor think poorly of Jack.

"Governor Swann, I know that pirates are not looked upon...ah, favorably, by most people here in Port Royal...or anywhere, for that matter. But take it from me, one who cares more about your daughter than anyone or anything else in this world: Jack is a good man who keeps to his word. He may not be the most...normal pirate a man could know, but he certainly is loyal. If Elizabeth is off across the sea with anyone, I would hope it would be with Jack Sparrow."

The older man looked Will up and down critically for a few moments. Then, he said something that made Will's jaw drop in astonishment. "Between you and me, William, I do believe you're right."

* * *

"That's not right, William!" Elizabeth protested loudly. Her grievances weren't helping Jack's splitting headache, and he made it known by groaning loudly. However, both Kidd and Elizabeth ignored him.

"It's right by me, and it's right by the crew. Therefore, it's right for you."

"That is the most sexist, womanizing thing I have ever heard you say. You can't make decisions for me just because you think a woman cannot handle herself in Tana!"

"I am not trying to belittle you, Lis. I'm trying to protect you."

"Oh, that makes perfect sense," she shot back sarcastically. "You're trying to keep me safe by bringing me to the most dangerous pirate haven in the world. Brilliant idea, William, superbly _excellent_ notion."

"For the infinite time, Elizabeth," growled Jack from the corner of the captain's quarters. His headache was growing worse. "You simply don't understand."

"What don't I understand, Jack? If you're going to keep me on this boat under guard and surveillance I think you owe me an explanation as to why."

Rubbing his head, Jack squinted at Elizabeth in the sunny, morning light that streamed through the one, gloriously draped window in the captain's quarters. "Do you know what the natives are like there, missy?"

"No. But why would there be a pirate haven if the natives were so dangerous?"

Jack smirked. "Perhaps because we pirates and those natives are so interestingly alike."

Elizabeth and Kidd stared at him for a moment, before shrugging off his comment. He was acting weirder and weirder, they both noticed that. But, then again for Jack, what counted as normal?

Jack noticed their perplexed (and slightly concerned) gaze, but just shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes. "You'd have to see it for yourself, lass."

"Excellent idea, Jack! See, William? Jack doesn't think –"

"Captain Sparrow," Kidd interjected. "Remember: she's pregnant."

Jack's eyes grew wide, and a slightly worried look crossed his face. "Aye, almost forgot about that. Elizabeth, forget my last statement. It was nothing but a figment of your imagination."

"It was not. You said it," she huffed, growing impatient.

"Said what?"

"That I should see for myself."

Jack shook his head and shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You just said it!"

"Did not."

"Did too!"

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Yes, you most certainly – "

"ENOUGH!" shouted Kidd, and both Elizabeth and Jack fell into cooperative silence. "This is getting us no where, Lis. You are to remain on the _Galley_, both for your safety and that of your child's."

Feeling the sting of certain defeat, Elizabeth looked from Jack to Kidd, clenched her jaw, and strode from the room, obviously aggravated and angry. Kidd shook his head and sighed, and Jack studied the other man through the blinding lights in his eyes due to his headache. Where did this blasted pain come from?

"I don't know what to do with her, Captain Sparrow," Kidd sighed, rubbing his eyes. "She's so..."

"...annoying?" Jack finished.

"No! She's my cousin, and I don't find her annoying in the least bit. She's just..."

"...loud?"

"NO. Not loud either. I don't know how to describe it. Umm...she's incredibly..."

"...pigheaded?"

Kidd looked slightly entertained. "Do I get the impression you're not fond of Lis?"

Jack remained silent for a moment before responding. "Fond...fond as in 'loving', 'doting', and all of that business? No, that's Will's proper job as a husband. Although I will tell you, on that deserted island, I think she was growing...how to say it..._fond_...of me?"

"I hear tell otherwise," responded Kidd, smiling. "But then again, that's beside the point. I don't fancy telling Lis exactly _why _we can't let her in Tana."

Jack frowned. "Why don't you just tell her that there are a bunch of fetus-eating, brain-chomping, skin-frying cannibals on that island and you're afraid she might be someone else's desert?"

Kidd cringed. "That's positively disgusting, Captain Sparrow."

"That's another thing," Jack said, waving a hand. "As much as I appreciate the 'captain' as a wonderful acknowledgement of my naval aptitude, I would be much obliged if you would just call me Jack. This is your boat – um, ship, your _ship_, and I think you had best be the only 'captain' aboard her, eh?"

"Just Jack, then, is it?"

"Aye, just Jack."

Kidd nodded approvingly. "Agreed."

"Splendid. Now," Jack announced, getting up and rubbing his hands together. "When's our estimated time of arrival in Tana?"

"Sometime in the late afternoon, if I did my math correctly," stated Kidd, now pouring over the maps strewn about on his cherry-oak colored desk. "I do have to say, we've been very lucky with the direction of the wind. It's been acting in our favor ever since we left Port Royal."

"The wind's unpredictable, mate," Jack warned. "A pirate always loves 'er, but he never trusts 'er."

"Aye, too true."

"But Elizabeth must stay on the ship...for more dangerous reasons than fetus-eating cannibals."

Kidd looked up from the maps and frowned, studying the other man. "There's something more dangerous than cannibals that would devour not only my cousin but her unborn child?"

"Oh, to be sure. I take it you've never been there?"

"No."

Jack smiled sardonically. "I had the unlucky fortune to visit there a while back. It's not a pretty place, to be sure. It's a place of dark magic, voodoo, idol worship, cult followings. A man could get wrapped up in Tana, and find himself unable to leave."

"Were you such a man?"

Jack looked at Kidd in a way that made the captain of the _Galley _want to curl under his desk and hide. He remained silent for a long while, his intent gaze blazing into Kidd's face. Then, he spoke.

"Aye. I was such a man."

"But you left..."

"...barely with my life. I have scars...permanent scars from my escape. They will do things to you there..." Jack trailed off, shaking his head and turning his back on Kidd. As he walked over to the window, Kidd saw Jack rub his forearm absent-mindedly. He gazed out of the clean glass into the horizon beyond, seemingly in a trance, lost in memories past. Kidd decided it was best to leave Jack to his thoughts, and he returned to the scattered maps, trying to pinpoint the dock they should arrive at, according to the wind patterns of late.

"You cannot let Elizabeth off of this ship."

Kidd looked up, startled that Jack had spoken after such a long silence. "We already agreed that she would remain aboard, Jack."

"We shouldn't be going here," he suddenly declared, ignoring Kidd's previous statement. He turned his back on the window, his face hollow and sunken. "We need to turn this ship around. Now."

"We can't do that, Jack," he said slowly. Something was wrong...very wrong. But he couldn't tell what. "We're very close, and Ratherford is sure to be on our tail. If he catches us..."

"If Ratherford catches us, we'll be lucky. He can't do anything to us that would even compare to what they can do..."

Kidd had never been a superstitious man; logic had always prevailed for him. All of this nonsense about voodoo and black magic had made him want to roll his eyes, but out of respect for Jack, he had taken it seriously. But it was something about the way Jack now spoke, something about his pallid skin and his haunted eyes that truly made Kidd want to listen and turn the boat around immediately.

"Jack – "

"Captain!" the cry erupted as the door to the captain's quarters flew open.

Kidd looked into the face of Smithe, open eyed and apparently shocked.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked, impatient.

"Sir...I think you'd better come on deck."

He was about to object and explain how busy he was at the moment, but a nagging feeling in his gut told him to go. With one more backwards glance at Jack, he headed out of his quarters and onto the deck.

Struck by the sudden humidity and heat in the air, Kidd inhaled deeply, finding it somewhat hard to breathe. The sun was glaring, and he felt the sudden urge to heave. Fighting it back and wondering what had made him suddenly feel so sick, Kidd turned to look at his crew.

Each man stood, open mouthed, looking up at the sky. Following their gaze, Kidd looked to see the moon inching its way towards the sun, slowly and yet deliberately, about to form an eclipse.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand what the problem is," snapped Kidd. "We're about to land in Tana, gentlemen. I need to figure out when we will arrive, where to dock, what conditions we will be facing – "

"It's more complicated than that, William," Elizabeth said, coming up beside him.

"What could be complicated? This isn't the first time it's happened – "

"No, but it's not supposed to happen for another two years."

Kidd blinked. "What?"

"The eclipse. It's not supposed to happen for another two years," she repeated in a hushed voice.

"She's right, you know. One of the few times I could say that." Jack had arrived on deck, and strode over to where the two of them stood. Gazing up at the sky, Kidd saw a strange sense of awe, fear, and ecstasy flow across his face, his kohl-lined eyes twinkling mysteriously. His expression sent a chill down Kidd's spine.

"An eclipse," Jack whispered, almost inaudibly. "Yes..."

"Yes, what?"

Jack turned to face Kidd, and he felt the chill travel down his back once more as he answered.

"They're watching us."

* * *

Ratherford gazed up at the sky, watching the celestial phenomenon through squinted eyes. He appeared to be solely focused on the eclipse, but instead, thoughts were running through his mind.

He knew the governor did not like him one bit, and he knew the governor didn't trust him either. He had immediately sided with Turner, disregarding Ratherford's authority and position as commodore. He had embarrassed him in front of that low-life blacksmith, and had made Ratherford publicly swallow his own words.

_Of course he sided with Turner, _he thought bitterly. _He's married to Swann's daughter._

But it did not matter. The whip of reprimand had struck him hard.

And he would not let the governor and his swine of a son-in-law get away with it.

He had his own plan. He had worked so hard to reach the top – he was not about to let a boy no older than twenty-five and an old, run-down politician stop him from his success. It was his ship, with his crew, doing what he commanded...it was foolish of Turner and Swann to be so eager to accompany him.

Ratherford smiled as the moon finally covered the sun, dropping the _Intrepid _into shadow. _Yes...very foolish of Turner and Swann..._

If they were real sailors, they would have known.

Because no one but the wind and the water sees what happens on rescue voyages...

...and neither wind nor water speaks.

* * *

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